


A Very Goblin King Christmas

by PaintedGlass



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Romance, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedGlass/pseuds/PaintedGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby makes a little Christmas wish. Jareth is all too happy to oblige. Sarah ... well, Sarah's just getting dragged along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of wishes and copious amounts of glitter

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little Christmas fluff (that will in no way, shape or form actually be finished in time for Christmas, but who doesn't love a little continuing holiday spirit in January, amirite? )
> 
> I've been absolutely swamped with work, and have a book (finally) coming out on Christmas Eve that's taking up all my time D: To make up for certain other things being unfinished, here's a tiny little festive thing to tide you over, and a big Merry Christmas to all you lovely Labyrinth folks :) x

The Goblin King sprawls over his throne in a manner that, from a distance, might seem aloof, regal even, but in actuality is the result of naught but boredom. It's almost the time of Yuletide, and as a result, his summons Aboveground are few and far between. There are no squabbling siblings – no requests for the fearsome Goblin King to steal away squalling babies and bothersome brats. No, all the children are on their best behaviour to honour the man their parents warn them of – the one that modern-era humans call the Father of Christmas, or Saint Nicholas. Once again, Jareth thinks to himself he'll never get used to the idea – having met the real Nikolaos himself some time ago, he knows first-hand that the man was no saint. Still, for whatever reason, 'tis the season for peace and goodwill to all men, women, children, and animals alike, and the resulting free time a pouting Jareth finds himself with is dull, dull, _dull_.

What he wouldn't give for a little excitement – a simple challenger or two to dangle above one of his oubliettes until such time as they admit defeat. Just a bit of harmless fun, although he imagines his dear Sarah wouldn't quite see it that way. Honestly, eight years now to grow up in, and the woman remains as irritatingly self-righteous and innocent to the ways of the world as she was as a teenager. Well, perhaps not _quite_ so innocent, thanks to him.

He smiles to himself as he shifts into a more comfortable position to ponder in, the train of his thoughts taking him in a rather more amorous direction. He thinks, as he so often does, of the rather delicious turn their roles have taken on in the past few years. There's no name, as such, for what they are to one another; he has no power over her, after all, and any talk of love between them only tends to occur when she takes him inside her. He does not pine for her when they are apart – she never takes too long to come back to him. Sometimes he takes other women to his bed in her place, and knows she does the same with the odd boyfriend. He is most jealous, of course, but he thinks he would not have it any other way. It's always an exciting challenge to coax her back, and most satisfying for them both when she comes.

She asked him, once, what would have become of her if she had lost all those years ago – what would have become of Toby if she had failed to solve the labyrinth. He answered her truthfully, seeing no point in a lie. All humans who stand defeated before the Goblin King must pay their toll, but he has never considered himself truly a cruel king. Had fair barter been offered, she would have found her brother returned safe and sound, for a single newly-turned goblin is worth little when he already rules so many. In the Underground, promises and favours are much-valued things, and the oath of a human can easily be worth more than gold. With but a single favour owed, she and her brother would have gone free, leaving the Goblin King to ponder exactly how that debt might be collected.

For a time, he begrudged the girl her victory – the debt that should have been; the future wealth and power he could have one day wielded Aboveground. Now, having come to know and love the woman she has become, it's easy to tell himself that he did, indeed, make the right decision back then. It wasn't that he actually lost to a teenage girl so pitifully, despite having exhausted all his power trying to best her; no, such was impossible. _Letting_ her win, on the other hand, was the best thing he could have done. He once made the grave error of airing this theory to Sarah directly, and was met with a torrent of verbal abuse so loud and vehement that it left his ears ringing. Not to mention the flurry of curses and half-wishes thrown at him – things he would not dare even dream of granting. To this day, he dwells on her words, and shudders to think of how precisely a cactus might be self-inserted in _any_ manner, let alone sideways.

Deserved victory or no, they've spent an interesting few years in and out of one another's company ever since. Though he's always been rather fond of the little scamp, the Goblin King can't help but feel some new appreciation for the one who has made it all possible – the young master Toby. Squalling infant no longer, the boy has a healthy appetite for frolic and fantasy, and makes his wishes so often, when his stubborn half-sister will not. The lad has always been a clever one – an early and quite avid reader, whose hunger for new books to swallow took him into the forbidden territory of his older sister's room.

Toby devoured the story of the labyrinth and its keeper within one scant afternoon, his first wish to said keeper coming almost immediately after. Sarah had come home to find the elegant king of her dreams and nightmares sitting cross-legged upon her bedroom floor, seated beside her then six-year-old brother, surrounded by fingerpaints, glue, and copious amounts of glitter. The look upon her face was quite a picture.

As young Toby continued his messy project (a project Jareth would later find himself berated still further for, and entirely without reason – he only _told_ the boy the story of the great and ancient goblin war; it's not as though he asked Toby himself to partake. Personally, he thought the red glitter the lad had used to depict all the blood was rather a nice touch), the Goblin King and his tempestuous Champion had finally been given time to talk. It was a mite awkward at first. By then, they had not spoken to one another in almost two years.

The two of them had met on precisely three occasions in the past: their first being her time within his labyrinth, where he had admired the strength of the girl who had utterly destroyed him. The second had come when that girl was already a woman grown, striking in her beauty and anger, and in her demand for the Goblin King to come to her once more. She had called him before her in a fit of fury, wounded by some pathetic human lad who had tried and failed to claim her virginity, and naming the bewildered king the sole cause. She claimed him to have ruined her for any other – the stuff of fantasies, in his tight-fitting clothes and ethereal beauty. She was not best pleased when Jareth chose to agree with her. Objects were thrown.

Their third meeting came only a manner of weeks later. She had been nineteen, full of longing and self-doubt – a strong and stunning creature who had crumbled before him, her confidence finally broken. There had been another boy – one who had been less than kind upon hearing her rejection. He had left her seated upon her bed and wallowing in her tears, without a care. Jareth could not help himself: he knelt before her as she wept, and smiled as she asked him if he thought her to be pretty – as if the answer could have ever been anything less than a resounding 'yes'.

At her will, he had spent the rest of that sweet night revelling only in her, taking what she gave him, reminding her of that strength and beauty she possessed that cruel words could never steal from her. By once more yielding his power to her, bending to her every whim as he taught her the ways of passion, he had restored her own. He had loved her that night, both physically and in his own curious way, but he had not expected to see her again. When the weeks, and then months of no contact passed, he thought himself to be right. Of course, in the end Toby had proven them both wrong, and Jareth could not have been more glad. At twenty-one, as confident again as when they had first met, he was certain his Sarah was not entirely displeased to see him.

It was a long talk, in the end, and not without a certain amount of raised voices (entirely hers), a certain amount of flirtation (from both sides, though a little reluctant at first), and some long-overdue apologies (unfortunately, entirely his own). In the end, they had come to an agreement to satisfy them both. Sarah wouldn't trouble herself in trying to talk her excitable little brother into giving up his new-found jinn, and Jareth, in turn, gave his solemn oath that no harm would ever come to the boy, no matter what his wish. This last wasn't entirely necessary even then, and certainly isn't now: he's learned to love them both, in his own way, and would never wish them any real harm. The lad is the young brother he never had, or perhaps the son he's never cared to. As for Sarah … well, just to love her is enough.

In the two years that have followed, Toby's frequent wishes have provided a most pleasing opportunity for the Goblin King and his Champion to remain in contact, and sometimes more. Toby makes his requests, and Jareth grants them like the good-natured soul he is. He never once begrudges the boy, even when he insists on reappearing at the most inopportune moments and foiling his plans of seduction. Well, perhaps a little begrudging is in order. It seems an awfully long time, after all, since last he managed to work his way into Sarah's … affections. Her lovely, tight affections. Jareth shifts in his throne again, just to think of it. Yes, in his boredom, he rather thinks he'd be up for that challenge again sooner, rather than later. If only-

Oh, but the boy has perfect timing. Toby wants the Goblin King to make a boring Christmas more fun for he and his sister, and Jareth is most happy to oblige. It's a simple little wish, nothing _too_ strenuous, Jareth thinks – but of course, that depends entirely on Sarah's mood, and attachment to her current beau. After all, 'tis the season of loving and giving, and he has reason to hope his beloved Sarah might just be receptive to a little of both. With but a flick of his wrist, the Goblin King is set to spend his first Christmas Aboveground.

 


	2. Of decorations, and a royal pain in the arse

He emerges into the human realm and onto the Williams' property in a flourish of white wings, but carefully – always cautious these days. There have been too many sudden entrances; one such incident where he startled his beloved fresh from her shower, leaving her wet towel pooled on the floor between them, and his smile curving upward into the heavens. A particularly vicious threat upon his family jewels was made that day, and so caution has been a necessity ever since. His hearing is made sharper in his current form, and so he lurks without, listening for running water and hearing none. He does, however, hear the faint sound of singing, and so ducks to peer through the wide kitchen window.

At a distance, he sees her for the first time in months, and his heart is warm and glad. She's on the opposite side of the house, busying herself in the living room, her lips parted in song. She does not see him, but she's smiling, as well as singing to herself. It's as good an invitation as any. With a nod, the kitchen window is open to him; with another, he is indoors, and once again resplendent as his more natural, more appealing self. Pausing before the window, he gives his reflection a quick once-over, pale fingers fluffing at his hair. He picks non-existent lint off his person as he strides further into the house, easy confidence carrying his steps. He pauses once more in the doorway to fully take her in.

His beloved is now bent over quite enticingly, rummaging through a large cardboard box of trinkets. The room around her is decorated in the manner humans think traditional, dominated by a large tree, which is decked out in brightly-coloured baubles. Only the tiniest sprig of mistletoe he sees is familiar to him, snatched up between his fingers with a sly grin. Every other available surface is covered with fake snowflakes, glitter, and numerous depictions of the same red and grinning face – 'Saint' Nicholas, yet again. He gives the closest miniature figure – a gaudy and quite charmless statuette whose eyes seem to follow him – a little sneer, and tries to put the man from his mind. It's rather difficult, though. He's rather intrigued by the words that leave his Sarah's mouth – some terribly suggestive little ditty about a certain Santa Claus becoming stuck in a chimney, fat and round, not quite up and not quite down.

As she practically giggles this last, her delightful little bottom swaying back and forth to some beat only she can hear, Jareth starts to worry for the directional state of his own breeches. He's so pleased to see her – all of her – after so long, and it won't do to stand here gawping at her like some young whelp at his first dance. Particularly as he knows she's off-limits. Though he finds it distasteful, he reminds himself she was 'seeing someone' the last time they spoke – hardly an appropriate time to go declaring his affections. Still, that doesn't mean he can't look … and want. He tells himself the little flings she has never last long, and this one should be no different. There's at least a little consolation to be found in knowing that while he's here, he can remind her just who and what awaits her after she's put an end to this particular one.

He positions himself to perfection before he speaks, leaning back against the door-frame with one knee bent, one heeled boot pressed back against the wood. His hips thrust subtly forwards, one arm holding back his cloak so she will have a better view of his breeches, and all they contain. He gives his most charming smile.

“A lovely little song, Sarah,” he begins. “Am I to understand-?”

His intended quip goes horribly awry when its recipient lets out an ear-piercing scream, and goes tumbling arse over tea-kettle over – and half _into_ – her cardboard box.

“Jareth? _Jareth!_ Goddamn it, Jareth!” his precious thing growls, whilst trying to right herself. “We've talked about this – you can't just go sneaking up on me. You have-”

“No power over me,” he finishes, with a sneer of distaste. “Yes, yes – I'm quite aware. Though we both know the reverse isn't true – particularly when I come here to find you waving that lovely arse at me. Would you like some help getting up again, love?”

“I'm fine,” she snaps back, still struggling her way out of her predicament. “Just peachy, until you showed up. What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have anything better to do Underground, rather than harassing me?” There's a particularly appealing blush to her cheeks; the barest hint of a smile that she's doing her best to hide. Oh, he can read her like a book after all this time, and there's nothing so warm as to be welcomed, her eyes dancing as she takes him in for the first time in so many months. He bites back his own grin as those eyes dip down to his crotch – only for a second, but it's there.

“As it happens, I'm not here for you, pet – an awful shame,” he purrs. “Once again, I'm here at young Toby's request. I'm to provide 'a good Christmas – one that's actually fun this year', if I recall. Given your bawdy choice of song, am I to understand that the boy is not here?” He makes a show of polishing his nails against his shirt to spare himself the worst of her glares.

“Dammit, Tobes,” he hears her mutter. Righted, though a little red-faced, his beloved shakes her head. “No, it's his last day at school before they close for the holidays. He must've wished for it there.”

He can't help a little smirk. “Then I assume it's a good thing I didn't appear to him in person again.”

Sarah nods, looking somewhat distracted. “The teacher you surprised last time hasn't been the same since.”

There's the urge to say something about his natural effect on women – it's sure to make her blush an even more enchanting shade of red – but he sets it aside for now. She looks upset, and though it pains the ruthless and merciless king of the goblins to admit it, he would move the stars just to take all trace of worry from her eyes. “What is it, love?” he asks.

“The wishes,” she says, low and flat. “I keep telling him not to bug you like this …”

He risks a smile and takes a few steps closer. “Surely, you aren't that upset about imposing on me, precious?”

She shakes her head again. “It isn't that. It's just … I told him we'd have a good time, even without Irene and Dad. He must be really down right now.”

With a sigh, she tells him her own unhappy little Yuletide tale. As it turns out, there's been a death in the family – some distant, almost never seen relative of her stepmother's, freeing the Williams clan of the emotional burdens, but not the familial ones. Father and stepmother both have been obligated to fly halfway across the country to attend a burial, and apparently to cut through a lot of red tape – a custom Jareth is unaware of. Though he doesn't quite understand the ceremony of cutting the material, he gathers it's to be an intricate process, with a lot of financial and legal repercussions if not done correctly. Coming from a realm where anthropomorphic doors have been known to decide life or death, he can only sympathise with such strange customs.

To make matters worse, the weather Aboveground has been a harsh mistress, in that unpredictable way she has. The snow has come thick and fast over the past few days, leaving Sarah's father and stepmother with no way to get home, and Sarah and her brother all alone for Christmas. At eight years old, Toby is already a little sceptical that Father Christmas will be paying him a visit, and the lack of his parents over the holiday has apparently been the last straw. He's a sensitive lad, bothered deeply by such things, and there have been tears and fights aplenty over the past few days. Jareth needs only look upon Sarah's tightly-drawn face to see it.

“I told him I was going to make it the best I could this year. Dad always lets him put the star on top of the tree, but he said it didn't even feel like Christmas this year. I was going to surprise him with all this,” she sighs, gesturing to her box of decorations. It's all he can do not to wrap his arms around her, soothing her with his presence, but then she smiles. “I guess it's a good thing you're here after all. Maybe at least seeing you will get a smile out of him.” She nods, and Jareth thinks it's more for her benefit than his, her smile growing surer. “Help me decorate?”

He does, for a time. The two of them work in comfortable silence, stringing shining beads and more glittering baubles around the room. Nikolaos is everywhere, and once more it puts Jareth in mind of other men – one in particular, who stands between he and his intended.

“How's the latest gentleman caller?” he asks, and in a manner that almost pretends he's interested.

“You can say 'boyfriend', Jareth – normal people do.” She shrugs. “Well, I guess you'd say 'ex-boyfriend' now, though. We broke up a couple of months ago. No big deal.”

Now that is interesting. “Oh? That's a pity.” That doesn't sound too much like gloating – he's sure of it.

“Is it?” Sarah laughs. “He was a loser. I don't know why we were together so long in the first place.”

He fixes her with a warm smile, his eyes heavy-lidded, his bold stare oozing seduction. “So you're not heartbroken, then?”

His Sarah laughs again. “Nope. Hand me that little reindeer, please?”

He does so, his mind racing all the while with such new and enticing possibilities opened up. This has the potential to be a very merry Christmas indeed. “A pity – if you were, indeed, broken-hearted, I'd have liked to have done lots of terrible things to you, to make you forget all about him.”

She snorts. “Like you really need an excuse.”

He gives a slight bow of his head. “I merely require an invitation, love. If you're offering …”

Sarah tosses her head – almost a shake, but it's not quite a no. “You're supposed to be here for Toby, remember?” she says.

“I assure you I'm quite capable of multitasking. I'm a man of many talents, precious – talents I'd love for you to be reacquainted with.” Like a certain one with his tongue that never fails to leave her _dripping_. He allows himself a little smirk, and is rather pleased with the way she blushes and rolls her eyes.

“Shut up. I've got other things to do.”

He takes another few steps forward, bringing the two of them quite close indeed. “Can I be one of those things? I'd love for you to unleash your talented hands onto me.” He notices and revels in the way her gaze drops briefly to his lips, before snapping back to his eyes.

“Sure. Stand still long enough, and I'll hang some holly in a _real_ special place.”

He can't help a chuckle. “Now, pet, there's no need for such animosities. We're both good friends – very good friends.” He leans in just a little closer, pouting slightly, hoping that for once she'll be quick to give in to the temptation.

She rids him of such wishful thinking by poking a hard finger into his chest. “There's every need for them, when I have you hanging around, doing just about anything you can to get into my pants.”

The jab forces him to take a small step backwards, tutting and shaking his head. “Sarah, love, if you don't start behaving in a manner suited to my royal presence, we might have to revisit the sort of punishment we discussed the last time we were together. Given that you're blushing already, I think you know exactly what I'm referring to.”

She's positively crimson. “And is putting me over your lap to … to …”

Oh, how deliciously innocent she is – she can't even say it. He grins. “Spank you, pet? Yes …?”

“Yes, _that_.” She gives concession with a roll of her eyes, plainly embarrassed. “What, is that meant to be some sort of perverted Christmas present for me?”

He allows himself a little chuckle. “Of course not, love. It would be selfish of me to presume.” Just when she starts to look a little too relieved, he goes on. “Why, it would be a gift entirely to myself, to have your lovely little arse entirely at my disposal. Just think of it – I know I will.” Oh, and now she's really blushing. He grins. “Having said that, pet, I'm not adverse to sharing my fun. 'Tis the season' and so on and so forth. I'd be most willing to fill you with a bit of Christmas cheer. Not to mention my-”

She's quick – he has to admit it – but centuries of practice in dealing with aggrieved womenfolk sends the tiny stuffed polar bear she hurls at him sailing safely over his shoulder. Standing tall again, the Goblin King makes an exaggerated show of dusting himself off.

“A valiant attempt, Sarah, but let's not forget – you're no match for me. Now, if you need me – and we both know you do – I'll be in your kitchen, pouring myself a generous measure of Christmas spirit.”

She really is adorable when she pouts. “It's barely midday.”

“All the more reason to sneak one in now, before young Toby comes home. I'd ask you to join me, loosen up a little, but we both know how wonderfully _tight_ you are as well. I'd hate for that to change.”

As he turns away, his smirk widens, satisfied he's found the perfect little tease to leave her with. He's playing a little dirty already, he knows, but by now his Champion expects no less. It's the game and long-familiar roles they've both learned to play so well: he the sly and seductive villain, tempting her with all her wild and wicked dreams on a gilded platter; she the virtuous – if not virginal – heroine, who refuses to be conquered. That meeting they never fail to come to, somewhere in the middle, is most satisfying to them both. With no mortal boyfriend to hinder his progress this time, the game is most definitely afoot, and he's racking up points already. He would expect no less.

He lets out a silent chuckle, ducking his head and hearing her hiss of frustration as the next stuffed toy – a penguin, this time – goes sailing over its target. So predictable at times, his pouting little precious thing – so very easy to-

The next thing she throws hits him squarely on the arse, and weighs a damn sight more than a stuffed penguin. It lands with a solid thump, and when he glances down, he sees a carved wooden elf staring up at him from the floor– one that reminds him an awful lot of that disgusting little gnome (Hogwoggle?) she used to chum around with. The sting he's left with reminds him of the ever-present pain in the arse of some of his citizens. He glances back at Sarah and raises an eyebrow.

Her responding – and, quite surprisingly, deliciously evil – laughter goes straight to his cock.

He ponders on that laughter after he makes his retreat, defeated for now, yet still quite determined. He ponders, too, on the fact that it's been far too long since he last heard her moan. A stiff drink is needed to distract himself from other rapidly stiffening prospects – thinking far too wistfully of luscious dark hair, smooth white skin, and eyes that glitter with longing. All for him. In all his long years, she's proven to be his favourite distraction – one he can't help but crave more of.

As he adjusts his breeches – taking perhaps a little longer than necessary, or, indeed, can be deemed kingly – he knows the truth of it. She's proven herself a match for him in every single way, and if he wants her again – for keeps, one day – he'd do best to remember it.

He drains his glass in one, and rethinks the sprig of mistletoe he has tucked into his belt, tossing it aside. It won't do. Despite all the wonderful imagery his mind conjures to the contrary, he knows he should be the one on his knees. He just hopes that Toby's wish lasts long enough for him to get the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah is singing the wonderful 'Santa Claus Got Stuck In My Chimney' by Ella Fitzgerald, for those who are curious ;)


	3. Of joy, triumph, and an unfortunate interruption

Jareth is positively exhausted. Toby was more than happy to see him – a stampede of youthful energy from the minute he arrived home from school. The lad has run him ragged all evening, making him conjure this shiny trinket and that for his amusement, pushing the Goblin King's patience to its limits, if not his magic. Jareth feels more court jester than king as he collapses onto the empty couch, moaning softly as his head rocks back. Knackered as he is, he manages a brief glance up to admire the tree, the strands of lights Sarah strung amongst its green branches now sparkling in a soft rainbow of colours. The star atop the tree all but drips golden glitter, twinkling above all those little lights and making him smile.

Though he'll never admit it, his proudest moment today – the one where he felt at his most welcome in this realm and in this house – was when Toby insisted on clambering up onto his shoulders, star in hand, stretching to hang the tacky thing way up high. Plastic as both tree and star are, poor imitations of the real things, the boy's laughter, the wide grin stretching his own lips were very, very real. The laughter of a child is truly a wondrous thing, despite the headaches the little blighters cause. Jareth earned himself much of that laughter throughout the evening, the loudest of which when he pulled Toby into a fierce headlock, grunting and growling all the while. The battle that followed was an intense one between boy and king. With some of his sharpest moves and fiercest glares – and not an ounce of his strength – the panting Goblin King at last lay defeated on his back upon the rug, and declared Toby the victor. The lad's victorious laughter was almost as evil as his sister's.

Of course, Sarah _had_ to pick that moment of sentiment and weakness to come strolling back into the room, food and drink in hand. It did not escape Jareth's notice that the tray she held bore milk and cookies enough for two – as if the Goblin King himself were no better than a growing boy. The small, indulgent smile she gave him served both to strip him of every last vestige of his masculinity, and to make him lust for her all the more. Impudent wench.

The cookies, to his equal joy and dismay, were delicious.

Back in the present, he thinks he must have dozed some, his head lolled back against the soft couch. When he raises his head again, there's a thick blanket spread over his knees, and Sarah is just settling down beside him, wearing what looks to be nothing more than a long, baggy nightshirt. The room is a little dark for his taste, but when he traces the curves of her breasts, he's certain he can see a hint of peaked nipple beneath the thin fabric. All at once, he feels very much awake. He watches as she tucks a corner of the blanket around herself, hiding her naked legs from his attentive stare. The loose neckline of her shirt leaves one shoulder bared, the long line of her throat soft and creamy in the fire's golden light, just yearning for his touch. Her hair is loose and damp, curling up at the ends, tousled from what he thinks must be a hurried towelling. She smiles at him. She is beautiful.

“I checked in on him when I was done in the bathroom. He's finally asleep,” she confides.

Jareth lets loose a low groan, stretching his stiff limbs. “Thank the gods. If you ever find yourself longing to wish him away to me again, don't bother. I'm not coming back.”

She laughs softly. “You'll always come when he calls you – when either of us call.” Her expression grows more serious as she turns her body to face him, her hips shifting on the couch, a flash of bare thigh winking out from beneath the blanket. “Thank you. For everything. It's taken his mind off Dad and Irene, even if it's just for a little while.” She looks at him, considering. “It's good to see you again too,” she says at last.

He smiles and reaches out to brush a wet strand of hair off her neck. “And you, love.”

He can feel the warmth from her bath still radiating from her, fresh and clean as she sits beside him. He can't help himself, leaning closer, searching her eyes when she does nothing to stop him. Perhaps, at least for now, the game is behind them. She does not seem to have it in her to resist, and the gods know he won't stop himself when she smiles at him that way. Moving into her welcoming heat, he presses a questioning kiss to her bare skin, just where her shirt has slipped low on her shoulder. She does not protest, and instead leans into him, her breath stirring his hair. Instead of making him work for this, the little minx is actually encouraging him … and around her, he needs so little encouragement. He should wait, should hold back and let their barbs and teasing take their natural, tricky little course, making this all the more rewarding in the end. He knows he should wait, but she makes it so hard. She makes _him_ so hard.

He brushes more damp tails of her hair aside and presses his mouth and nose against the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. She smells good, and once again he's struck by her heat as well as that heady aroma. It's a rich and sweet smell, of vanilla and – oh, good gods – of peaches, and he wants more of _that_ at once. He parts his lips and truly breathes her in, voicing a low moan as he nuzzles into her neck. The smallest taste is all he needs, and when the sweetness of peaches explodes onto his tongue, ripe and decadent, he can feel his need throbbing all throughout his body, seizing his aching cock and his very senses, his pulse thundering behind his eyelids.

He's never met a woman quite like his Sarah – so sensitive that the slightest touch in the right place can leave her quivering for him. She's moaning herself now, head tilted back in submission, and he's barely even licked her – had hardly a taste of what she's offering. Oh, but that taste is so _good_. She tasted of peaches the night he first had her, not so many years ago. It's not often she carries the scent; she once let slip that it reminds her of when he almost won – the time when he almost held true power over her, though neither of them knew where it would one day lead them. If this is a sign of her submission once more, he's more than willing to take it. He takes his kiss, just brushing his lips over hers, and the look in her eyes is naught but 'yes', stealing the last tatters of his resolve. Now.

 _Now_.

The blanket tangles around their bodies as he shifts to lie over her, and he's kissing her – truly kissing her for the first time in months. Her mouth is warm, wet and willing beneath his own – perfection in one already perfect mortal woman. She's the one he's dreamed of and wanted ever since that first mind-blowing encounter, every one that followed never quite enough to sate his hunger for good. He's been unable to forget, unable to stop wanting her, but already those soft, scorching lips are burning away all thoughts of the past. Her moans are full of promise of what's yet to come – and, gods willing, he'll have _her_ coming soon enough. Never has he heard a sweeter sound.

She tastes of nectar – a heaven he seldom allows himself; just the barest sip at her lips, and already he's hard as stone. Thus is the fire that burns between them. She feels it too, nimble hands that slide down his body to cup him through his breeches. Impatient thing. He wants to be buried in her, letting her delicious body envelop him in that familiar slick heat as he fucks her senseless, but this is his only chance – the only power he ever holds over her. He will make her wait just a few minutes more to have him, and it will be glorious.

Pushing her hands away, he seizes control – seizes _her_. His hands mould perfectly to her breasts – perfection, she is always soft, luscious perfection – and he teases each peaked nipple with his thumbs, the way he longs to with his tongue. He can't yet tear his mouth away from hers, even to explore her other delights. His hands blaze that trail for him, slipping beneath her thin shirt with the ease of practice, helped along the way as she wriggles and bucks to aid him.

His cock throbs a hot, steady rhythm within its confines, trapped so tantalisingly between their bodies. Despite his best intentions, he knows he can't resist – can't hold back from her for much longer. His head is spinning as he drags his lips along her smooth neck, one hand splayed across the bared flesh of her belly as the other reaches between her legs, finding only the thinnest of barriers to guard her from him. He wastes no time in seeking her heat, his fingers pushing aside her underwear and stroking, stroking … oh, and there she is, groaning with him as he caresses her slick folds, keening her pleasure as two of his fingers push up and inside her.

Ye gods, how she grips him! She's already given him the gift of her virginity – a gift he will always treasure – but every time he has her like this, it's like she grants herself to him again for the first time; so tight is she. He knows just how to please her best, and soon they find that familiar golden rhythm, her hips moving, her arms knotted around his neck as she croons the _filthiest_ things into his willing ear. Gods, how he has missed this – missed her.

She can never keep up the dirty talk for long, not with his fingers bringing her ever closer to orgasm – the first of many tonight, his greedy mind promises. He's drunk just from the taste of her lips, knuckle-deep in her wet heat, and already she's giving him those loud and utterly helpless moans he's come to love so well. It's that same ' _oh, yes, ohh'_ , that tells him she's so close to letting him feel the delectable pulse of her cunt around him. His fingers push faster, deeper, urging more of those moans, whispering his encouragement against her neck.

So attuned are his keen ears to her, that he almost misses the click of a door; the first footstep on the hallway floor overhead. Sarah's still crying out – _'oh, oh, ohh'_ , and louder still when he pulls back, denying her the climax she so sorely needs – when Jareth raises his voice to join hers.

“Oh … _oh_ …?”

Their eyes meet, full of panic and confusion and dawning realisation as the sound of small footsteps draws closer – on the stairs now.

“Oh …? Oh! O come, all ye faithful,” Jareth blurts, loud and lusty, a waver in his usually flawless singing voice. “Ah … Joyful and triumphant. O … _(oh shit, the words … ah … )_ O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem …”

How the heavens must hate him. Instead of being buried deep inside his beloved, he's practically screaming a song into her bewildered face. Somewhere deep in his mind, and within that tiny piece of his heart that's black as pitch, he ponders on the morality of Bogging an eight-year-old human boy.

Denied of coming herself, Sarah is surprisingly lucid as she joins the carol, her sweet voice betraying nothing of her frantic efforts to right her dishevelled shirt. By the time the footsteps reach the living room, the pair of them are snuggled up quite innocently together, despite the racing of Jareth's heart; in spite of the urge to lick her earlobe as he croons the repeated request to 'come' against her hair. The song ends on a call to one of the Christian faith's deities, just as the living room door starts to swing open. The flushed Goblin King has just enough time to call upon his magic, cleansing them both of all but virtuousness and festive cheer. He manages to shoot his beloved a reassuring grin before young Toby comes trundling in, one hand scrunched in his tousled hair, his pyjama shirt untucked.

The boy's eyes are heavy-lidded with sleep, but still he manages to give them both quite the accusing glare. “I could hear you upstairs. You're singing too loud,” he slurs.

Sarah gives him a warm smile. “Sorry, Tobes. We're both just … uh … excited for Christmas. Want me to put you back to bed?”

“Nuh-uh.” Before either of them can protest, Toby has pulled himself up onto the couch between them, further widening the respectable gap between their bodies. “Scooch over,” the sleepy prince commands.

“Okay, but only for a little while,” Sarah tells him, tucking the blanket around the three of them.

Her cheeks are still flushed and beautiful, but all the lust, all that brief panic is gone from her eyes. Instead, an expression of purest love lights her face as she kisses her brother on the forehead. Jareth watches that look, that obvious way with children, and it _does_ something to him that he dares not question. He wants her – good gods, it's terrifying enough that the eternal bachelor has decided he wants her to be his for good – but it's becoming clearer and clearer he eventually wants more. Perhaps a true family of his own. He does his best to push such thoughts from his mind, as Toby drifts almost immediately into sleep.

Sarah glances at him over the boy's head. “That was close,” she whispers.

Jareth smiles at her, giving her a subtle lift of his eyebrow. “You were _very_ close, if I'm to believe what I heard, love. I'll have to make it up to you another night.”

Oh, how her lips make him _need_ to cover them with his own – such power, she has, in but a single smile. “I'll hold you to that,” she assures him, and all he wants to do is hold _her_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of the loss of an absolute fucking legend, this is probably going to be on hold for a while. RIP David Bowie xxx


	4. Of snowballs and ice-packs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing Christmas in February, because emotions, work, and because ... well, why the hell not?

The crisp winter air is enough to sting his nostrils with its cold. He does his best not to shiver – at least not in a noticeable fashion. His plan had been to forge a fun, festive outing for Toby, the Goblin King's most loyal subjects taking the lad to explore all the Underground has to offer, whilst the Goblin King himself managed to entertain his other guest, coaxing his beloved into their own little private rendezvous. At this time of year there are lavish celebrations to end the year, plus sights and spells to widen a young boy's eyes with their magic and wonder. Fun and frolics aplenty, a special time to be had by all, and yet Jareth currently finds himself huddled on what is perhaps the coldest bench in both of their realms, glaring out in all bitterness at what passes for 'fun' Aboveground these days.

After Toby's insistence he wanted to spend the day in his own world, Jareth had found himself subjected to a whirlwind of unappealing Christmas traditions. He spent the morning being more of a hindrance than a help in the Williams' tiny kitchen, watching Sarah and her brother first baking several sheets of golden, sweet-smelling gingerbread – a warm treat he wasn't even permitted to _touch_ , never mind doing something so foolish as _taste_ the confection.

Glowering, he watched them as they proceeded to assemble the sheets together into a crude sort of house, gluing the entire mass together with white icing, before decorating it with various candies and chocolates – all of which Jareth found himself banned from partaking in. After all their work, they left the thing just sitting on the counter – a mere decoration, rather than the early dessert Jareth had found himself rather hoping for.

Next, the day took them to a shopping mall absolutely cram-packed with heaving bodies, with hardly a pocket of air to breathe in, let alone any modicum of personal space to be had. The seething Goblin King found himself jostled along and elbowed on all sides by greedy, mindless shoppers, all clamouring to buy their last minute dolls and action figures, or whatever nonsense was the latest thing to take over their children's minds. It was almost an assault course, where his magic had been strictly forbidden, and even his fiercest scowls did little to move the hapless idiots out of his path. Then, the three of them had spent over an hour lining up along with hundreds more people, listening to the squalling of snot-nosed, selfish brats Jareth would not have stolen away even if he had been _paid_ to, and the mindless comments of their parents.

The entire ordeal had all been for one purpose: so that Toby could spend less than a minute sitting on the lap of a man who wore a fake beard and declared himself to be 'Father Christmas'. Jareth had taken one look at the imposter and snorted, only to be rewarded by a swift elbow to the ribs from his sour-faced beloved. She did not appreciate his declaration that it had all been a waste of time, and was quick to drag him away from the rest of the line before his muted rant about the real 'Saint' Nikolaos could gain any steam.

Even the so-called 'food court' did little to quell his discontent, with not a true servant in sight to tend a hungry king, and the greasy, overpriced junk food he'd been forced to wait in line for now sitting heavy upon his stomach. With all that delicious uneaten gingerbread left to go cold and stale that morning, the one meagre cookie Sarah bought for him out of pity was tasty, but did not serve as adequate compensation, Jareth thought.

Through it all, he thought he had behaved in an immaculate fashion whenever Toby had been looking, smiling along with the day's events and keeping up with the boy's stream of excited chatter. Jareth might even have been proud of himself, had he not later found himself stuck in a bleak, snow-covered park, bored and far too cold for such things as pride.

In that park, the unamused Goblin King finds himself ignored completely, in favour of a crowd of small boys. Toby had found his friends from school, and the whole tribe of them had spent most of the afternoon chasing one another around, tossing handfuls of snow at each other and shrieking laughter. With nothing to do but hug himself against the weather, Jareth finds himself feeling less than useless. Even worse than that feeling of uselessness though, is feeling _cold_.

Underground, the Goblin King would think nothing of piling his slim body with layers upon layers, blocking out the icy weather. Countless visions come to him of approaching his beloved Sarah dressed in high boots and darkest velvet, cutting a figure from any forbidden fairytale, draped in luxurious thick sable. He can easily imagine tempting her underneath one of his long winter cloaks, wrapping the soft fur around both of them, two bodies free to make their own special heat.

His mind paints vivid pictures of taking her on a tour of his own private gardens, bellies full of hot cider or mulled wine, the two of them pressed so close together as to make one dark figure against the frost-covered walkways. He pictures her pale cheeks flushed pink as they kiss, and not from cold, his hands free to roam under all that dark fur, discovering her hot and willing for him. Yes, Underground, in his domain, the day would have been all but perfect.

Aboveground, it is a different matter entirely. Sarah and the boy seem to be coping just fine in those flimsy 'winter' jackets all the mortals are wearing, while the shuddering Goblin King suffers in silence. Well, in near silence, at least. He certainly hopes Sarah cannot hear the decidedly ignoble chattering of his teeth. He has never felt less kingly, clad in a sensible grey overcoat, dark jeans, a thin blue sweater that seems reasonably fashionable for this realm, and a set of thermal underwear that most certainly aren't. He can only glower at the indignity, and hope his Sarah does not notice.

Dragging himself from the depths of his self-pity, he realises he has not laid eyes upon his Sarah for a good few minutes. He peers around the crowded park, then feels a reluctant smile pull upon his lips when he feels a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

“Not enjoying what our world has to offer?” Sarah asks, and he can just hear her grinning.

“I have never been more thrilled,” he tells her, with as much sincerity as he can muster, and minimal eye-rolling.

“I'll bet.” Instead of sinking down onto the freezing bench beside him, bestowing him with the warmth of her soft body that he desires in so many ways, she remains on her feet. The hand at his shoulder taps him with intent. “Come on, up and at 'em, Goblin King. You're not helping anyone, moping on that bench.”

Jareth stands upright at once, drawing himself tall and proud. “I was not 'moping'. I was merely-”

“Moping,” his Sarah finishes for him, prodding him in the arm as she rounds the bench to meet him. “You've been sulking ever since you didn't whisk us all off Underground this morning. What's the matter? Is not having any goblins to kick around bringing you down?”

He sighs, and risks a moment's further indignity to pull his coat a little tighter around himself. “This is a lot more … human than I'm used to,” he hears himself admit. He wonders, sometimes, at how easy it is to bare himself to her, in more ways than one. It both soothes and unsettles his heart. “Nothing has been under my control today, including the two of you. It … disturbs me.”

She smiles at his honestly. “Sometimes you just have to let go, and go with the moment. You can't argue with him. This is what he wanted: our idea of Christmas fun today; your idea of Christmas fun tomorrow.”

He rolls his eyes, but still manages a flirtatious smile. Her sheer proximity has that effect. “Yes, but waiting for hours to beg some overweight man in a suit for Christmas gifts hardly seems 'fun'. Though come to think of it, if your human good tidings and cheer are anything to go by, we should _all_ get what we want at this time of year … and last night, I didn't get to have what _I_ wanted,” he pouts.

His Sarah laughs. “Neither did I. Besides, you only get your Christmas wish if you've been good this year.” She smiles at him in that wicked way she has. “Have you been a good Goblin King, Jareth?”

He returns that lewd little grin, edging a little closer as he does. “Reasonably.”

Sarah laughs. “I guess that's good enough – for you.”

She might be about to kiss him – in fact, he's sure of it – when a sudden blur of red behind her makes her cry out, and sends her stumbling into his arms. Sarah lets out a surprised squawk, but he steadies her, keeping her feet from sliding out from beneath her as she clings to his coat. Drawn tight with sudden anger, Jareth scans their immediate surroundings with intent, demanding to know who dares assault his beloved.

He gets his answer in the guise of a dishevelled old man in a battered red parka, already stumbling off into the distance. Though the immediate urge arises to magic something foul down upon the man's feathery-white head, their would-be assailant's fragile appearance gives him pause. From the man's overgrown white beard and scuffed black boots, he appears to be rather down on his luck. Still, Jareth knows he must defend his lady's honour – what king would he be if he did not? Mustering sarcasm, rather than spells, the scowling Goblin King draws himself up to his full height, and calls after the man in what he cringes to realise is a most petulant tone. “Hey! Thanks a lot … pops.”

“You're welcome, buddy,” the old man slurs back, waving a hand without turning.

Jareth purses his lips as he scowls after him. He's about to say more, but the soft giggle against his chest cools his temper. When he glances down, Sarah is grinning up at him.

“Give the old guy a break. It's Christmas. He might not even have anyone – any _where_ to go home to.”

Jareth sighs and rolls his eyes. “Oh, for pity's sake.”

It's ridiculous, what he's considering doing. Even more galling is the fact that the thought came, not just for the benefit of his soft-hearted paramour, but out of the thin stripe of goodness that runs through his own heart. He remembers seeing far too little of his own grandfather, in his ailing latter years. It takes some skill and a good deal of thought to channel his powers, freezing as he is, but Jareth does his best to focus. Through the power of his mind, he calls forth a full coffer from his own treasury, empties it of its gold coin, and drags the lot into the Aboveground, where it changes into that poor, paper imitation of money that the mortals now use. The old man's trousers sag from the sudden weight as it's added to his back pocket, but the man doesn't even seem to notice. Sarah, however, does.

“What did you just do?”

“Nothing.” She continues to glare, and he widens his eyes in all innocence. “What? _Nothing_. Nothing, tra-la-la, really. Now _you_ , pet, are looking absolutely ravishing today, and I think-”

“ _Jareth_.”

He heaves another sigh. “Fine. It was … help. For him. I … _helped_ him.” He scratches at the back of his neck, not liking the odd, soft, _fluffy_ feeling deep down in his stomach. “Five hundred dollars, give or take. It should … help.” Then, because Sarah is looking at him like he's no more threatening than a sleepy, well-fed kitten: “That is, if the old fool doesn't lose the whole lot, or I change my mind and send him to the Bog for Christmas instead.”

She just goes on smiling up at him. “And the Goblin King's heart grew three sizes that day.”

He scoffs, his feathers – or blasted kitten fur – well and truly ruffled, but feels somehow pleased all the same. “Medically impossible,” he says, appreciating the way her arms are curled firmly around his waist; the soft warmth of her body pressed to his own. She does kiss him now, and granted the glory that is her mouth, the gentle scratch of her gloved fingers in his hair, he thinks he might just get what he wishes for that year after all.

She smirks at him. “Impossible? Even with magic?” she asks.

He can't help smiling back. “For a heart to swell to such grossly engorged proportions while its owner still lives – yes.” His smile turns a shade darker. “However, certain _other_ parts of me have been known to swell to truly massive proportions.”

“Hmm, now I wonder just what those parts could be …?”

After darting a swift glance around them, his precious thing sneaks one of those impish hands between their bodies. Her eyes sparkle as she gives him a none-too-gentle squeeze. Jareth thrusts into her hand at once, seeking more. Though it's obvious she thinks she's being naughty, risking such an intimate caress in a public place, his Sarah is neglecting to consider one little thing: _he_ doesn't care a whit for the shock of the mortals around them.

If she has any intention of following through – something he doubts, given how shy she can be at times – he has no qualms about taking her there and then, winter thermals be damned. Smirking, he lets his hands slip down her body, drawing her flush against him. Jareth is determined he won't be the one to pull away first. He squeezes her through those figure-hugging jeans she has the wonderful habit of wearing, and hums when he hears her tiny squeal of delight. She doesn't immediately pull away. Instead, she seems to test him, nudging her hips forward just the slightest bit and granting him the veiled heat of her core, which she grinds against him. It sets his cock stiffening against her soft belly, and he hisses with delight.

"Damn the gods, woman, you'll have me hard as stone if you carry on."

"Maybe that's what I want. Snow's good and fun and all, but I miss touching something hard – something _hot_. Last night, you never let me get a good feel of just what I've been missing out on, Jareth."

He murmurs his pleasure into her hair and pulls her even nearer, though only the gods know how that's possible. Even through their outerwear, he can feel the soft weight of her breasts pushed against his chest, the warmth of her belly that's still cushioning his growing length – and, gods, that deeper heat below. "You'll get more than a feel of it, if you carry on," he warns her.

The little vixen actually purrs her pleasure into the crook of his neck, her nose and soft lips quickly nuzzling away his resolve. "What exactly will I get, _Your Highness_?" She teases. "I haven't been a very good girl this year. In fact, I've been pretty _bad_."

He growls a warning. "Sarah. Desist."

She only hums. "Consider this a little payback for leaving me high and dry last night." Her soft, seductive, _evil_ laughter almost makes the defeated Goblin King whimper. "Though you know, Jareth, I wasn't exactly _dry …_ "

Her little gasp as he manages a subtle palm of her breast restores a modicum of his control. Jareth smiles and plants a small kiss upon the outer shell of her ear. "I know it all too well. Now, close that lovely mouth of yours at once, my precious, wicked thing, before I lay you down right here and fuck you into the snow."

She cuddles her dark head into his shoulder, her gentle sigh admitting defeat, but doing nothing to wane his throbbing cock. "Promises, promises."

"Soon, love," he murmurs, and means it. He knows how beautiful she is laid bare, but the thought of her milky skin and the dark locks of her hair, spread for him across a pristine white canvas, has his erection begging for mercy. The need for relief and release has him in near agony. His heart is pounding the same frantic rhythm as his unruly cock, his head dancing with visions and scents and _tastes_ , and if he can't rid himself of them at once, he just knows he's going to come.

The humiliation is an impossibility, but it's tightening his balls and clenching in his belly all the same. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but abstinence does nothing good for the cock. He runs his gloved hands up and down her back in some desperate attempt to soothe them both, letting his fingers catch in soft spills of her dark hair. He draws some of the silken lengths forward over her shoulders, letting them tangle with golden strands of his own, light and dark coming together as one. It's fitting; he thinks that, after all the years they've been together like this, in beautiful error, he has made her as wicked as he.

The expression on her upturned face is angelic though, and he plants small kisses upon her cold cheeks and reddened nose, still willing his cock into surrender. It is not an easy battle. Smiling, he leans in to place an even softer kiss upon her mouth. It isn't the searching, soulful kiss he longs to bestow upon her. It isn't what his body needs, but it warms his heart in a dizzy, absolutely disgusting way, and makes him feel like dancing. The smile that dawns upon his Sarah's lips is brighter than the sun. A little giddy, and far too emotional for his usual self, Jareth actually finds himself nuzzling his nose against hers as they look into one another's eyes. It's a true, picture-perfect moment in anyone's eyes, the first good moment of the day, and true to Jareth's cursed little life, it just begs to be ruined.

“Sarah! Jareth! Gross, you guys! Knock it off and come play with me!” Young Toby's friends are apparently on their way home, and the lad is once more eager for attention. Something cold and solid thuds against the back of Jareth's shoulder.

“In a minute, Tobes,” Sarah calls back. Her arms are still wrapped around him, and she's blushing the most delicious shade of pink he has spent many a cold minute envisioning today. Gods, she makes him long to give up all else, just to kiss every last inch of her, until that rosy-pink turns scarlet.

Jareth doesn't get to go on with his kisses, as another deftly-thrown ball of snow hits him right in the back of the head, dusting his shoulders and neck with cold white powder. After a brief grimace, he starts to chuckle. Sarah's quick to join him, her laughter ringing out in that way he so loves. They finally break away from one another. He's still grinning as he turns to face his pint-sized would-be adversary. “All right, Toby, let me have it.”

They are most certainly _not_ the right words. There's a blur of white, and a solid thudding sound that Jareth thinks he'll go on hearing forever more. Either it's a genuine error, or he has severely misjudged his foe's lethal aim. Neither thought is of any particular comfort as he goes crumpling to his knees, eyes full of water, hands cupped in defence around his wounded genitals, if not his wounded pride. They do not quite triple in size, thank the gods, but the Goblin King's balls certainly grow to _feel_ as big as his kind heart that afternoon.

 

-

 

“How are you feeling?”

The care in Sarah's voice warms his chest, meeting the rich, hot cocoa currently heating his belly and the numbing cold the ice-pack has bestowed upon the lower half of his body. It's an odd combination, but the opposing temperatures somehow work for him as he sits sprawled upon the couch, legs spread wide, his generous endowments perhaps still a little more generous than usual beneath all the ice. The potent fae brandy he managed to sneak into the cocoa might have a little to do with that, but mostly Jareth thinks it's the way he's being babied.

Sarah has tended his wounds, both physical and imagined, with her ice-pack and gentle sympathy; she has brought him sweetness and succour in the form of a home-cooked meal, including a generous helping of delicious gingerbread she had managed to stow away from him in secret. With her soft hands upon his brow and stroking through his hair, the memory of her gentle kisses heating his cheek and his lips, the Goblin King sits in absolute peace, thinking he has all he could ever want.

Aloud, he says: “I'll live, I suppose.”

She finally sinks down beside him and tugs the blanket around them both, just as warm and sleepy as can be, after a full day of running around after Toby, followed by a full evening of looking after him. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, this time with exhaustion, but still she smiles for him. Still, that smile makes him warm all over, with just the smallest bit of her will; so great is her power. Sarah gives the smallest smile, and it has him ready to turn entire worlds for her. He knows he needs her, body and soul, and he intends to have her. It has been far, far too long since they have been so close to one another, and Jareth finds himself beginning to realise he cannot go so long without her again. He needs to charm his way into her bed, and quickly, before his sweet Sarah can possibly forget what a good thing she's gotten herself onto here – and what a good thing could be making its way into her.

“Glad to hear it,” she says as she slumps against his side. It's easy enough to wrap an arm around her, and she welcomes it, snuggling up into his chest. “It's good to have you around again. Maybe …” She stops to yawn, a lazy smile spreading across her face as he runs his fingers through her hair. “Maybe, when you're feeling better, we can sneak you up into … into my room. Toby won't see. You can come in my bed. We can … we can …”

When her eyes drift closed, when her breathing at last settles into a slow, deep rhythm, Jareth finds he doesn't have the heart to wake her to hear the end of that sentence – just as he hasn't had the heart to tell her his groin injury has long since mended itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, it's back. More to come, unsure of when. More actual book news to come towards the beginning of next month as well. I have been a busy little me :)


	5. Of hanging, hedges, and horrible timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry June, everyone ;)

There's no redeeming it, but Jareth actually tries for a moment, hands on hips, eyes narrowed as he takes in the grisly scene before the three of them. His mouth opens and closes once more as he searches for words – the _right_ words that will somehow – _somehow_ – make this all right.

Instead, he flaps his arms up in defeat. “Well, _shit_.”

He is no expert in the ways of mortals – one of the rare things at which he does not excel – but Jareth is quite, quite certain that there has been a miscommunication somehow. His command – his simple, hopeful command – was that his guests should arrive in his castle to a scene straight out of one of their mortal picture-books – the perfect, traditional Christmas dinner setting to make them feel at home. The day had been going so well, too. When Jareth had first brought them into his realm, just one glimpse across the snow-covered landscape was enough to make Sarah and Toby fall in love with it. The Underground is never more beautiful than it seems in winter's pale and perfect embrace.

The three of them had spent a good portion of the morning within the Caverns – a system of damp and dark, winding tunnels carved into the bedrock itself, running for miles upon miles far beneath the labyrinth and even its deepest, dustiest oubliettes. The true underground of the Underground, if one wants to be witty (and Jareth so often does). At this time of year, the cold rock with its hundreds of winding corridors is turned into a crystalline maze, sheeted with ice as clear and smooth as glass. Down there, every small spark of magical light is turned to blue fire, reflected off the thousands of pale and icy stalactites that hang overhead. It is a place of beauty that has the immediate effect of stealing Sarah's breath away upon first sight, but it's _fun_ they're there for, and in no time at all Jareth had them sliding, _gliding_ , rocketing at great speeds along slippery, shimmering passageways in a great and sturdy sleigh of his own making. With their cheeks kissed by the cold, the walls passing them by at blinding speeds, Sarah's thrilled and terrified cries had been almost as loud as Toby's. Thrilling his beloved was, as always, the laughing Goblin King's intention, even if it was not in one of the darker ways he so longed to. Being with her was enough to satisfy him. Hours of clean, cold fun – more than enough for each of them to build up a great appetite, and Jareth's suggestion that they retire to his castle had been met with enthusiasm on all sides, even by his own proud yet rumbling belly.

The castle that greets them is … not so appetising. Looking before them at the hellish sight of the Christmas that should never have been, Jareth knows he _should_ have known better than to trust the cretins he calls servants with _anything._ Even so, he has to admit that what his goblins lack in brains, they more than make up for in enthusiasm. To their credit, the Great Hall has been swept clean at least, the long table set with three places, and enough food to feed an army – hot, steaming meats and platters of vegetables and sauces without number – but what lies beyond is enough to sour even an iron stomach. At the head of the hall towers a thick and mighty tree, lush and green, the perfect symbol of a mortal Christmas, but its decor is most definitely not something that will be adorning the front of any festive greeting cards any time soon.

So few of his goblins can read, and perhaps there was a mix up when it came to the few lines in the simple children's storybook – T'was the Night Before Christmas – Jareth had given to them as a guide. Granted, the goblins have thought to include the obligatory effigy of Saint Nicholas, as all the humans do, and they've done quite a good job at capturing the likeness. His suit is of finest red velvet trimmed with pale fur, and his beard is made of fluffy white cotton. Even the old fellow's twinkling blue eyes have been included, though they bulge in an unseemly manner, and his rosy pink cheeks are more of a ghastly, mottled purplish shade, painted on with exquisite detail. To put it frankly, instead of hanging up stockings, it's poor Saint Nicholas who has been hung up with the greatest care, a rope slung around the dangling dummy's neck, and the most exquisite attention paid to every other gory detail of his death. Oh yes, he's covered in ashes and soot as the old story goes, with a pipe clenched between his teeth, but the smoke circling him is from where his head has been set on fire, the snowy-white hair just starting to blacken and smoulder. If that wasn't enough, the 'twist of his head' he's supposed to give has been reinterpreted as a full 360° turn, with the most ear-splitting, nightmare-inducing _cracking_ sound coming from poor Saint Nick's scrawny wooden neck.

Sarah gives a short gasp, before it's cut off as she covers her mouth. With a sigh of his own, Jareth ducks his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. For once, words escape the two of them. Not the third member of their party, though.

“Oh, _cool!_ ”

Young Toby's laughter is like that of a miniature maniac; Jareth isn't certain whether that should impress or worry him. As is, the despairing Goblin King goes on to cradle his forehead in one despairing palm as the lad goes tearing off to investigate the gruesome display more closely. By his side, Sarah is not best pleased.

“Between this and the painting you had him doing, the kid's going to grow up to be a serial killer,” she grumbles.

“Believe me, if I catch sight of the goblins responsible for this mess today, I might join him,” Jareth mutters.

With a wave of his hand, the grisly display is no more, the grim assortment of festive fuckery sent somewhere safe where he intends to burn it later. Toby's sounds of disappointment soon taper off when the three of them at last sit down to eat. Without Saint Nicholas' bug-eyed, flaming, head-spinning corpse watching over them, the meal is quite satisfying, but Jareth's patience is starting to run out. After doing his best all morning to impress his beloved in addition to pleasing her brother, he can't help but feel the entire incident has taken him a large step back. He's at his most charming throughout the meal, doing his utmost to win her over again. By the time dessert rolls around, and Sarah is smiling again once more, Jareth knows he has succeeded. It encourages him to try to get her alone. As eventful as the day has been so far with its innocent fun, the Goblin King now has other, more adult activities in mind.

With his belly stuffed full of food, Toby is slower and a little easier to manipulate. Plied with talk of toys and games, he's all too happy to follow one of Jareth's goblins – trusted a little more than the day's useless decorating crew – on a visit to the Goblin City's toymaker. With her eyes glassy, full of longing and lust, Sarah is more than willing to take a walk with him – finally, just the two of them alone. A cup of hot cider later, Jareth leads her out into his private gardens with a sly smile. It's cold, every surface dusted with frost or hanging with rows of dripping icicles, and it's just like his secret visions of seduction.

Wrapped in his thickest, warmest winter cloak, it's far too easy to tempt Sarah underneath the heavy layers with him, wrapping an arm around her waist as she does the same to him. It's even easier to lead her between the high, glistening green walls of the hedge maze, further separating them from the rest of his kingdom. Their combined breath plumes in a hazy cloud in the cool air above their heads, but underneath the cloak its so very hot. The arm around her waist pulls her closer still, and the warm swell of her hip pressed to his sets his cock throbbing. They're so close and it's tempting him beyond reason, and he does not think he's imagining that her feet are starting to move a little faster too as they crunch along the narrow walkway. They're rushing, hurrying towards the centre of the little maze, towards what they both know is building between them. Jareth thinks, with a smirk, that his sweet Sarah might have been waiting for this in secret all day. When they find the middle of the maze, emerging into a wide clearing, she's on him before he can say 'sex'. She turns to him with a look of such heat, and his hands barely have chance to catch hold of her hips before her mouth is pressed to his.

Gods, such a kiss, and there's more of them, hot and heavy against his lips, his chin, his throat. She's ravenous, horny as hell after holding back for so long, and Jareth is all too happy to reap the benefits. He pulls her closer as he slips his tongue between her soft lips, and groans into her mouth as her small hands squeeze his arse, dragging his hips against hers. The subtle grinding of her body tells him exactly what she needs, but still she moans it in the most delicious way between their kisses, her words filling him with yet more heat, the low, husky tone they're spoken in filling his hardening cock the same way as his hands move to explore her back. She lets out a fierce little growl as she pulls back just far enough to look into his eyes.

"I've missed you so much – I've waited so goddamn long for this," she groans, and it's chastisement as well as fact, the note of impatience in both her words and her clasping hands making his twitching cock positively _hum_.

“Ah, but you've had your lovely gentleman caller, your _boyfriend_ to tide you over, have you not?” he asks, as he raises his eyebrows in the perfect mockery of innocence.

Sarah shakes her head so hard it makes her dark hair whip her cheeks and his. “He wasn't the same. It's never the same as when I'm with you.”

Jareth smiles his most rakish smile, his tongue darting pink and hot over the sharp line of his teeth, pausing to tease and toy with a canine the way he longs to fuck with her. Oh, she needs him. His poor, precious thing needs the fucking of her life, and he intends to give it to her – to leave her powerless, boneless at his feet by the time he's through pleasing her. The reins are back in his eager fist, control given over to the true king once more, and gods, that power is intense; in sex, if not quite yet in love, she returns his constant longing tenfold. When it comes to her body – such a lush, delicious body as she possesses – she's already proven just how willing she is to bend to his every command – and she _bends_ so very well. She is his, she's always been his, and damned if he doesn't take a moment to gloat over the glorious fact before he gives her the worship she deserves. His cocky nature, after all, thrills her almost as much as his cock. When he speaks again, his voice is nothing more than a low, smug purr, the voice of the strutting tom-cat who's gotten the cream – or knows he will very soon.

"What were you expecting, love?" he asks in heat, his hands dipped just low enough for his fingers to graze the ripe swell of one firm buttock. "This isn't amateur hour; accept no substitutes. Did you really think he would compare – that _any_ of your mortal boys would compare to me?"

One hand toys with her hair as the other explores the smooth, sweet plane of her lower back. It's one of his favourite places to play, where every tiny, insignificant movement is enough to make her moan. He loves how sensitive she is.

"Oh, yes, they can try," he allows, the small nip of teeth he applies to her earlobe saying otherwise. "They can play around, fumbling over the same touches, apeing the same words, poorly and to minimal effect, but they'll never thrill you like I do; they'll never be me. Play around with them all your heart desires, precious thing, but it's me you really want. I'm what you've been dreaming of all this time – who you've been waiting for, to get you off properly," he continues, his hand dropping to give her arse a gentle squeeze. A sly dip beneath her jeans, a calculated turn of his hand, and his middle finger just about brushes the very top of her sensitive crease, and oh, how he relishes her shudder. "It's been so long, Sarah – too long … but wasn't I worth the wait?"

"God, yes," his Sarah all but growls.

Given proper encouragement, she's as demanding as he is; she seizes his mouth as if she's always owned it, rocking him back on his heels with the force of her ardour. His sweetest Sarah, surely his true queen. It's written in every part of that kiss, the certain give and take of her soft mouth, just as commanding as it is commandeered. Not a single person in this realm or any other is so worthy of ruling beside him – Jareth knows this now, and has never wanted anything else so much. He wants more of her, at his side and in his bed, more power for them both; more of her body as his lust consumes him.

They know one another's needs and never shy from them, and when he has her as desperate as this, Jareth _knows_ her heart must beat with the same love that pounds a tempest in his own. In all his long years, in all he has witnessed, two halves have never quite come together so well as they do. It's a gratifying thought, and surely one that will warm him through future nights even if she does not, but soon the growing hardness in his breeches demands his full attention. The future can wait – hell, _love_ can wait – but the need to have her cannot. Jareth wonders where will be best. Here and now, cocooned in their maze of frost-dusted leaves, or should he keep her wet and willing for longer?

He might lead her, wanting, to a different part of his gardens, out in the open, and take her pressed hard against a frozen tree; the image of her hot thighs wrapped around him while her every sigh and moan plumes steam into the air is a mighty tempting one. Yet the green, earthy embrace of the maze calls to him, and he knows he has the strength and the urge to claim her right here in the open clearing, standing free with only his hands and cock to support her. In his bed is also a tempting thought, and if he really tries he thinks he has the will to wait just a heartbeat longer to have her, where only a moment of concentration can see them secure in his silken sheets, where she will be truly safe from any prying eyes – but not his roving hands.

There are so many places he wants her and could easily have her: her bare body kissed by the cold and eternal flowers of the Faerie Fields as he presses into her; every movement of their bodies mirrored in glassy sheets of ice, every moan turned to endless echoes of ecstasy, deep down in the Caverns; the bubbling rush of the Eternal Hot Springs matched only by the thunder of her pulse as he bites her throat, and the heated squeeze of her cunt as he slips inside her. So many decisions, too many choices for an amorous king to choose from, and her mouth is already the most delicious distraction. Tearing himself away from her hot kisses would be akin to blasphemy, even to turn his lips to her glorious body, but not taking the time to taste all of her, to drive her wild with his tongue, would be an equal sin. He longs to make a proper meal of her, and there are so many delectable courses to sate his every appetite.

A true king should be thinking about all the creative ways he's going to take revenge on his useless goblins for their idiocy earlier, but it's impossible with Sarah's gentle breaths against his neck, and her slender fingers warming his cock. She brings him to life with hardly any effort, curling around the growing length of him and pumping him in slow, gentle moves of her hand, twisting her wrist just as she reaches the swollen head to give him that little extra stimulation. It sets his toes curling in his heavy boots, his hips jerking forwards to meet her soft palm and those lovely, lovely fingers. She tugs on him just the way he likes it, they way she always does, making him arch back onto his heels, all the better to guide himself into her expert touch. If she were to move backwards right now, she would lead him by the cock, and he would follow her anywhere. He cannot remember the last time she had him this hard, stroking him firmer and faster right here in the open, hidden beneath his cloak just as he dreamed, but with nothing else to hide their passion beneath the clear, pale winter skies.

The cold air cannot touch him, cannot cause even a moment's discomfort that day, because he's burning, on fire for her, throbbing with scorching heat in his Sarah's hand, fit to burst. Yes, he's going to have her – not in the snow's pristine canvas as he first imagined, but right here in his arms, supporting her delicious weight with nothing more than his own two hands and the solid length of his aching prick. She will slide down onto him, smooth as silk, hotter and tighter than she is in even his sweetest of memories, and he will take her where no one will dare disturb them. Flesh on flesh – _in_ flesh – sweet, deep perfection, and when he comes, he knows he'll roar her name up to the gods, revelling in the most glorious, most primal union of all. All of this flashes through his mind – the wild, blind lust she inspires that makes him long to grunt and claw the earth and pound his breast like early, primitive man as he powers into his woman's ripe and luscious cunt, claiming it as only his; the love of her that makes him long to twine flowers into her dark hair, giving the purest poetry of his heart, all the tender romance she desires as he gives her his body – and all she's done is taken him in hand.

It appears that his Sarah has other plans. With the most wicked of grins on her full lips, she sinks to her knees before him, right there in the clearing. At once, she's lost, enveloped in silky layers of thick, dark fur, the top of her head hardly visible alongside the soft sable. She can hardly be seen, but Jareth knows what she's up to, all right. He feels her hands at his belt, sliding over the straining core of his clinging trousers. She makes short work of the thin fabric that holds him back, taking him bare in her hand and drawing the solid length of him out into the open. He can't see her face as she releases him – the dark curtain of her hair and his cloak is drawn too tightly for that pleasure – but he can hear her soft sigh of what can only be delight, the soft hand encircling him giving him a couple of slow, experimental strokes. In that moment, with those two gentle, torturous pumps of his aching cock, he surrenders all power back to her. All hail Queen Sarah, victor of so long ago, bane of his accustomed, comfortable existence as a lone, _lonely_ ruler; champion of his heart, blight and balm both upon his throbbing cock as she touches him so-

Oh. _Oh_. The first flick of her hot tongue has him leaking out of control, his entire length jerking at the sudden contact. The next few licks she gives him are so soft, tentative and innocent – gods, almost _virginal_ – and he knows they're meant for nothing more than to tease him. The urge to bury his fingers in her soft hair is a powerful one, as is the image of dragging her hot mouth further onto his cock, imagining the way her lips will struggle into that mischievous smile he knows so well as she envelops him. She can take it, she knows by now how to take it and he is well aware of her limits, but he stops himself before his fingers do little more than rest upon her scalp. This is his Sarah as he loves her the most, full of power even as she prostrates herself before him in this act of pure and perfect lust. He will not steal it from her. After all, he has waited so long, _wanted_ her for so long, and this slow, sweet torment only gets him wetter, the thick head of his cock swollen and dripping pre-come that she immediately gathers on her soft, warm tongue. Let her taste him. Let her _tease_ him. He'll be only too happy to return the favour later on. Oh, but that mouth will soon be his undoing. Jareth knows it, his head driven back in a slow tilt as she mouths and laps at him before finally taking him inside, rocking forward and back again on his heels as she finally starts to suck.

He can't see a thing – can only feel as she accepts him, inch by slow, seductive inch, taking a little more of him between her soft lips with every bob of her head, her tongue edging a little more firmly along the ridge of his swollen tip as he plunges deeper into her hot mouth. Her hands slip around his body to cup his arse again – bare this time – squeezing him, urging him closer, drawing him deeper still. The slick seal of her mouth slides further along him, her tongue in a constant swirl of motion that has his toes clenching within his boots, his eyes all but crossing as he stares, helpless, up at the pale sky as his beloved sucks him. When her nose finally brushes the coarse hair at the base of his cock, her lips tighten around him, the flat of her tongue chasing along the underside of his throbbing prick, stroking him as far as she can possibly reach. Her muffled hum of pleasure sends vibrations through the entire length of him, skin tingling, his pleasure climbing higher, tightening in his belly. He bucks once into her willing mouth, releasing a choked sound of sensation, and she encourages more at once. The hands at his arse squeeze again, the start of a solid, steady rhythm, and soon he's moving with her, moving his hips to meet the hot, wet slide of her lips, biting his own lips as he indulges in a slow, sinful fuck of her mouth.

His delicious, wicked little Sarah changes the pace and the pressure quite often, keeping the Goblin King quite literally on his toes, his body rocking back and forth at her will, almost stumbling in his boots, his pale neck arched back towards the heavens, almost in offering. His eyes close, concentrating only on what he can _feel_ , and on keeping up the slow and steady drawing of breath through his nostrils – the last vestige of his control. Soon, he's powerless to keep up with even that, reduced to tortured sighs and what breathless little gasps his open mouth can steal. He's panting, driven to heaven and hell by the exquisite blowjob he cannot see, but can feel oh, so well, surging towards madness and ecstasy, lost in his Sarah's perfect pink mouth. She gives him more soft sounds of satisfaction, her talented mouth ever in motion along him, her breath laboured around her solid mouthful, and he wonders for one sweet moment if his lover is touching herself beneath her secret curtain of furs.

That about does him in, the thought of her fingers playing along her slick folds as she sucks him, fucking herself on one, or perhaps two long digits as she encourages him to fuck her mouth. Oh, gods, he wants to be inside her, tearing away the cloak and all pretences, giving her the long, hard fucking she so deserves. He wants it, needs it, but he cannot – _will_ not – abandon her gorgeous mouth and all the pleasured moans it sucks and kisses, sucks and _licks_ out of him.

"Sarah," he whispers, and even in that one name, it's evident how close he is, choked with desire. "Sarah, I can't take it much more," he grunts, his gloved hands both in her dark hair now, trying to urge her back. "Sarah, love, _no_. If you want me to fuck you, you have to stop, precious thing, before I … ah … _come_ …”

His last word is little more than a moan as she treats him to a long, slow, _firm_ drag of her sweet mouth as she pulls back. Between the two of them, they manage to draw back the heavy cloak enough to reveal her, and all at once, Jareth finds himself fighting not to come on the spot after all. Her beautiful green eyes glitter like dark emeralds, full of lust and longing, and her mouth – oh, that perfect fucking mouth – is plump and full, a darker, duskier pink than before from all her efforts. He wants to kiss those lips; he wants them to engulf him again. The solid length of his erection towers over her sweet, innocent face like some obscene monument to debauchery, slick and shiny from her mouth's attention, hard as steel and twitching, jerking whenever her warm breath caresses it. She gives him another of those wicked grins, and leans in to press her little pink tongue against the underside of his cock in a brief, teasing lick that makes him throb and cry out loud. It pushes him right to the edge, thrust deep into battle with his own urges, and the vivid picture he has of painting her rosy lips and cheeks with his creamy essence does not help him. He groans his torment to the sky, and he thinks it's almost a full minute before he can bear to look at her again without coming apart.

"I want you, Jareth," she tells him in that low, husky voice he's come to know so well. "I want to feel you coming in my mouth. I want to taste you. I want to drink every drop. You can fuck me later – god, I need you to fuck me – but let me taste you first.”

He groans again. She's trying to kill him. His precious, evil little thing is trying to kill him off and empty his tight, throbbing balls into that sweetest of mouths while she does it – and who is he to stop her? He meets her impish grin with one of his own as she bends to him again, and gods, he'll get to watch this time as she takes him in her mouth, her breath just warming the tip of him, drowning him in pleasure and anticipation. She wants him, the taste of him at least, and she'll have him soon enough, his beloved, his _darling_ , his beautiful, sexy-

"Sarah! Hey, Sarah? Jareth? I'm back! Where are you guys?”

Ye gods, not again! Jareth hisses something under his breath that may or may not be 'shitbollocksarsefucking _piss_ tits', and will most certainly not be repeated at a more audible volume – not in present company, anyhow.

A good thing Sarah has yet to swallow him down - it'd be so rude to try to reply with her mouth full, Jareth's tortured mind giggles. The Goblin King groans, the sight of his lover's perfect lips an inch away from his throbbing prick – so near and yet so far away – is one he'll keep locked up tight in his memories forever. It's not long at all, which is good as it's looking like forever is going to be exactly how long it takes him to finally finish what they keep starting, thanks to an eight year old boy who the benevolent Goblin King loves dearly, and in no way, shape or form wishes to inflict torture upon, even if it's only the milder stuff, and only then with Sarah's explicit approval first.

A flurry of magic and flying fur leaves them in a presentable state once more, the rush and panic quick to kill yet another perfectly good erection, may it rest in peace – or in _pieces_ , alongside Jareth's shattered dreams of the good, hard fuck he's desperate for. When they're finally fit to receive him, Sarah calls out in a somewhat dejected manner to let her brother know where the pair of them stand in the hedge maze. Still, it's not a complete loss, as she remains bundled with him underneath his cloak, her soft, warm body cuddled close in a way that, while innocent, still manages to bestow a strong sense of satisfaction upon him. She feels good like this, _his_ like this, and he lets his arm slide around her shoulders, drawing her nearer still. As Toby rounds the corner and spots them, coming barrelling towards them at once, Jareth leans in towards his beloved, a smirk on his lips.

"Still so against me turning him into a goblin?" he asks, and is met with a subtle slap of his arse.

"What's the point? He'd still find us and interrupt – he'd just look and smell worse when he does," Sarah whispers back.

Jareth hums his amusement, hugging her tighter and pressing a soft kiss against her temple before he draws back from her tempting heat. Stepping away from her, he raises a hand at the oncoming attack, grasping Toby with his magic and using the boy's momentum to send him sailing over their heads, far above the hedgerows. The lad whoops with delight, shrieking laughter as Jareth turns and twists him in mid-air, before sending him rushing off on the breeze ahead of them. A wry smile on his lips, Jareth turns and begins to walk along behind him, listening to Toby howling about the 'best Christmas _ever_ ' as he lifts and drops like a leaf on the wind. Sarah is quick to fall into step beside him, her smile dawning warmer than ever upon her face.

"You're so good to him – to _us_ , you know that?" she asks in a soft, wondering voice that makes his heart soar. It's impossible to hide his pleasure at her words, but a little bravado is never out of place.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," he says, taking his eyes off the flying boy for only a second to grace her with a tiny wink. His evil grin catches on quickly.

"And why is that?" Sarah asks, smirking.

He takes a moment to guide Toby in a brief jaunt upside down, listening to the lad screaming and laughing before he replies. His voice is a perfect mockery of innocence. "Why, Sarah, have you forgotten? The Bog lies in this direction, and it's a perfectly legitimate punishment; you didn't think this was just a leisure flight, did you?"

As Sarah comes to a complete halt, her wicked mouth hanging open, he takes on a faster pace, his boots crunching over the frosty path beneath them. He revels in the moment of stunned silence before he hears hurried footsteps behind him, racing to catch up.

"Jareth, you wouldn't!" Sarah shouts, but her cackling laughter as she runs to him warms both the growing cockles of his heart _and_ his poor, neglected cock.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little later than I said it would be, because I was *hoping* to post it at the same time as another little surprise. Unfortunately, that hasn't happened due to other (actual) publishing nonsense, but you can expect a little something else from me next month. Blog will be updated eventually, I swear! In the meantime, enjoy :)


	6. Of snow and sweet, sweet satisfaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry...September? Better hang up your stockings early for some more festive smut ;)

It finally came to fruition, just what he's planned and needed for so long, and in all his excitement, Jareth came in seconds.

“Sarah, I … I never meant for this. Honestly, this never normally happens to me. I'm so sorry …”

His Sarah gives a low groan, and the sound stirs him despite his concern. “It's okay, I already said I was fine. I just wish you'd give me _some_ warning before you pop in and out like that, though.”

He gives a guilty little shrug. “I'll be more careful in future, I promise, love.”

The pain in his own head is enough to make the chastened Goblin King think twice before attempting any more sudden appearances in the near future. Days of steady and careful seduction, all the right words and touches to woo his woman, and in the end he'd almost ruined it all, popping back into the realm Aboveground with all the clumsy, impatient energy of a whelp a quarter his age. He'd barrelled right into his beloved, practically head-butting her in his hurry to find her and sending her stumbling, leaving her flat out on her back on her living room floor in the process. It's hardly the romantic evening he had in mind, master of the long, slow, sinful fuck as he is. Still, he'd been so excited by the news, it had made it all but impossible to wait to inform her. It's very possible his wonderful bit of news might make her forgive him for his folly. He extends a long-fingered, pale hand to help his Sarah off the floor, into his arms and his comfort. A smile creeps across his face as she wraps her arms around him, and she sighs against his shoulder. It appears he's been forgiven.

“I can't believe it's Christmas already tomorrow. It's gone so quickly, and Toby hardly seems to have noticed that Dad and Irene aren't here.” She toys with his shirt collar. “I … don't think I could've handled it alone – without you. Having you here has made it so much better.” She chuckles against him and presses her body closer with a small groan. “Even though I haven't gotten to, you know, _have_ you just yet.”

Yet again, her words are enough to make both his heart and his cock swell. “Bearing that in mind, you should know I have a little surprise for you, precious thing – one I'm sure you'll like,” he says against her hair.

“What kind of surprise?”

She's still rubbing her aching arse from where she fell down, and Jareth, kind soul that he is, is quick to aid her, soothing one rounded cheek through her soft jeans. They're worn smooth after many wears and washes, almost like velvet, and feel far too good under his hand, along with the shape of that perfect arse. He releases her with a jolt and moves his palm to the small of her back instead, before he gets too carried away – he has news to deliver, after all. He pulls back enough to look into her eyes. His own, he's sure, are gleaming.

“ _Babysitters_ ,” he whispers, brushing a wild tendril of her hair aside, followed by one of his own. “For Toby, for tonight,” he adds, and grins at the slow dawn of light in her expression as she catches his meaning. A series of soft thuds sound overhead, signalling the arrival of said babysitters, and at once Sarah looks wary.

“Not the goblins,” she starts, but stills as he shakes his head.

“No, love. Someone far more trustworthy – creatures you once trusted with your own life, in fact.”

Her face lights up anew. “You mean …?”

“Yes,” he says, smiling. “The valiant Sir Didymus, the brave Sir Ludo, and the … well … Hogwart. However-”

“Hoggle.”

He waves a hand. “Yes, yes – Hogwash. However-”

“ _Hoggle_ ,” she persists.

“Fine. _Hoggle_ ,” he repeats, though naming the grimy little imp always irks him. “ _However_ , I'm afraid we only have until the end of the night to be alone together, and then we must return.” He gives a small, apologetic shrug. “I ask a lot of my subjects, especially lately, and I've promised them a fine reward for all their hard work.” In his desperation, he's also promised them a significant amount of silver to keep their distance while he makes his move – not to mention gold if they can manage to teach young Toby the benefits of _quiet_ playtime, to give the adults a break. It makes him grin a little too much as he goes on. “Their first real Christmas will be a day to eat, drink and be merry – although I think most of the goblins stopped listening after the first two things, which, now that I think about it, might ensure a little too much of the third.”

He shakes such worries out of his head, and concentrates on the task at hand with a slightly less devious smile. “Anyway, I've taken great care to ensure my subjects are entitled to a full, festive Christmas Day off, just like the lady Sarah and young master Toby celebrate. They're all quite fond of both of you by now, you know.” He toys with her hair again, fingers not quite steady as he meets her eyes, and something in her expression makes him decide to risk a little of himself right there and then. “As am I.”

The brightness of her smile is enough to make it all worthwhile. He's quick to carry on before his thudding heart can trip him up any further. He draws her tighter in the circle of his arms, the hands that smooth their way up and down her back made to hide the fact that he's just surrendered another piece of that foolish heart to her. “But until then, we've got the whole night to ourselves,” he croons into her ear, taking care to brush her lobe with his lips in the _exact_ spot that always makes her lose her breath.

She shudders in his arms as he brings them both closer, her hands clenched to fists in the front of his shirt. His own hand rests just above the curve of her arse as his other moves higher, slipping beneath the heavy curtain of her hair. He gives her nape a gentle squeeze, and for once she bends to his will, letting her head roll back against his palm. It's clear to him then just how much she has surrendered as well.

“Just the two of us,” he hears himself whisper, his gaze heavy on her plump lips. “Just us.”

When he kisses her, the frustration, the impotent feeling of the past few days just melts away. Those _almost_ encounters, those vaguely irritating memories are driven away by the heat and hunger in the kisses she gives back to him, and every single one goes straight to his throbbing cock. His head is full of romance, of thoughts of that slow and sweet seduction Sarah deserves, but every hard inch of him is screaming out for immediate reward. His balls ache with need for her, and when he at last pulls back from her mouth, his knees feel weak, his head swimming. Good _gods_ , he wants her, wet on his fingers and his tongue, but most of all he needs that hot cunt of hers clenching around his straining shaft. He groans his desperation into the humid air against her lips.

“Fuck, Sarah … _fuck_ …”

It's like she can't get enough of him after all this time, rolling her hips to meet his, all but panting against his mouth. She reminds him there and then why he loves her, when she hums her impatience low down in her throat, and grabs him by his shirt collar. She isn't afraid to take what she wants, and all she wants at that very moment is him.

“No more waiting,” she murmurs between short, solid kisses, and damned if she doesn't make him whimper a little when she scratches his bottom lip with her teeth. “I need you. Wherever you're taking us, do it _now_.”

That implicit trust, the knowledge that she's letting him steal her away with her blessing does nothing to wane his hard-on. It's proof in itself of how far they've come together over these past few years. He knows, given the nature of their initial meeting all those years ago, how much weighs on this woman's words – how much it means for her to give him that power over her. She knows, given all his years of quiet devotion, that the almighty Goblin King, cold and cruel as he sometimes professes to be, won't abuse that power. He'll snatch her away under cover of night, wicked as can be, and return her without a single silken hair on her head harmed, good as new.

As Sarah chooses that very moment to grind herself against his barely-contained bulge, nearly making his eyes roll back in his head, Jareth corrects himself. He'll return her, all right, but she's going to be _ever so slightly_ used. Both of his palms lift and then crack down upon her arse at once, hard enough to make her whole body judder, and he grips her through those lovely jeans as her mouth curves against his. As he smiles with her, he wonders if she'll still lose her ability to speak when he enters her – that soft, choked-off little ' _oh-!_ ' he remembers hearing oh, so well whenever his cock stretches her open. With that last delicious thought lingering to warm his mind and his unruly prick, he lets his magic wash over them, ready to take them. The last thing he sees Aboveground is his goddess closing her eyes as his power sweeps through her.

When she opens them again, they're in a world of purest white, a place he has crafted with his own powers – a perfect wonderland crafted within one of his crystals. Here, the snow falls thick and fast, forming an ever-moving, frozen curtain above and all around them, shrouding them in secrecy. Though every flake glitters with hundreds of tiny ice crystals, they aren't cold to touch – a fact his Sarah notices as she stretches out a hand to catch them in. He doesn't want her too distracted by the chill to enjoy this, after all. They don't melt in the heat of her palm, and form a delicate pattern upon her pale skin. She laughs in surprise as she turns her face upward, when every pale drop is but a soft caress upon her cheek.

Despite his longing, Jareth lets her go, and smiles to himself as she starts to turn, to dance under all that swirling snow. She's as beautiful as he's ever seen her, and though she doesn't know it, in that moment she steals away that last tiny shred of his heart she hasn't laid claim to already. She has all of him, and he wouldn't want it any other way. There's something to be said about that moment of innocent pleasure, and it thrills him to no end to know that his magic still has the ability to enchant her. He vows there and then that he'll never stop trying to amaze her. She deserves it – she deserves everything.

In that moment, its as though all his senses have been woken anew; he's absorbing everything in exquisite detail, from the minute crunch of powder beneath her boots, to the diamond dusting of it that settles onto her dark lashes. It's in her hair as well, crowning his queen with laurels of snow as she laughs and twists under the thick, fluffy flakes. When she turns her attention back to him, her green eyes are dark, almost black with delight and desire; it's clear she has not forgotten what they came here for, and she wants it just as much as ever.

“It's so beautiful,” she breathes, panting only a little as she at last comes to a stop. Now, only her eyes are dancing. “It's perfect, Jareth. Perfect for us.”

The wave of feeling she's set him adrift on is a powerful one, but he rides it well. He pulls her back into his arms, intent on her mouth. “ _We're_ perfect,” he says, and then they're kissing again, and she's hot and hungry against his lips, and he can only give and give and _give_ unto her. He's possessive of her mouth, refusing to let her break away for even a second, giving her his breath and sharing in hers. Her fingers twine into his hair, she hooks a leg around his hip, and he's surrounded by her heat, her softness, her _need_ , and gods, he can't wait any longer. He pushes forward, taking her by surprise, and then they're falling down into the thick snow together.

She squeals laughter into his mouth, but then it becomes the sweetest moan he's ever heard as his weight comes down atop her. He's between her thighs, finally between her luscious thighs, and he can't control the heavy throb of his cock as he finds himself trapped between their bodies, pressed into the alluring heat of her cunt. Even those softest of jeans can't compare to the feel of her bare skin on his, but he doesn't know if he can bear to pull back long enough to undress her. After a few more minutes of heated kisses, the solid bulge of his cock only growing between them, he knows he'll have to resort to other, more magical means.

With a cock of his head, he has them protected from the snow, all that pure white powder gathering atop the barrier he's made, forming a small cocoon around their bodies. With a sly come-hither gesture and just a little pinch of his powers, he's robbed her of her clothes, leaving them cast aside in the snow – all except for the thin, pale blue layer that covers her mound. His wicked grin grows in heat as her curls a finger around the delicate lace panel at the front, twisting the thin fabric and pulling it upwards between her slick folds at the same time. He milks that thin sliver of lace for all it's worth, causing it to pull and press against her clit, and drinking down her moans as it does.

Only when he has her needy enough, bucking and begging beneath him, does he make short work of his own clothes. Bare atop her at last, his throbbing cock is finally free to slide along her, and he tugs the crotch of her knickers aside just enough to allow it. His eyes flicker shut at the delicious contrast, the rough graze of the lace along the top of his shaft, the smooth, slick caress of her cunt underneath. She's so wet, so fucking hot he can't stand it. Still, he finds it in himself to tease, to make her as desperate for him as he is for her.

Supporting himself on one hand, his fingers sunken deep into the thick snow beside her shoulder, he works himself along her dripping slit, his cock rubbing along her tight entrance as he continues to drag her lacy underwear over the slick pearl of her clit.

“Jareth, oh, god, Jareth …”

She's reaching up for him, begging kisses from his parted lips, groaning into him as he lights his body on fire. Her breasts are warm and full against his chest, the hardened tip of each nipple skating along his skin. She clutches at his shoulders, his nape, and finally her hot little hands glide down along his back to grip his arse. The tight, demanding way she holds him almost – _almost_ – drives him inside her. A smirk crosses his lips as he repositions himself. With her making her desires so clear, how could he be possibly be cruel enough to deny her what she needs? It would, however, be kind to ask – she does so love it when he's generous, after all.

“Do you want it, Sarah?” he purrs, just as his thick cock head nudges her entrance.

She groans her need. “You fucking _know_ I do.”

The Goblin King chuckles, enjoying the little spark of power that surges through his shaft. “Mmm-hmm.” He leans down and gives the tip of one breast a teasing pass of his tongue, but there's no real malice behind it. With the amount of foreplay they've tortured themselves with over the last few days, he knows it's finally time. He won't keep his lady waiting any longer.

A murmur of magic leaves that last barrier between them, her soaked knickers, lying atop the tangled bundle of their other clothes. A moment later, he's pushing his way inside her. Jareth forces his eyes not to roll back in bliss, to hold hers as her wonderful heat envelops him. He watches her, full of want and wonder, and there it is – that ' _oh-!_ ' from her perfect mouth, before she's too overwhelmed to make a sound. The two of them are silent, only breathing, feeling, absorbing that sweet moment of being so deeply fused together. He wants that moment to last an eternity, a precious second frozen in time where he is everything to her, _in_ her. Soon, so soon, the need to fuck her becomes too much.

Sarah sobs aloud as he pulls back from her. She squeezed his arse once, _hard_ , as he thrusts forward to fill her again. As he moves inside her, he turns his kisses to the pale line of her throat, trailing lower to brush her shoulder and the milky-white curve of one breast. Her hot, gasping breaths dust along the top of his head, and when he licks the swollen pink bud of her nipple, those breaths come hard enough to part his hair. He grins and rakes her with his teeth, and feels her shudder around his cock.

It starts slow, hard and deep, and throughout it he relishes obeying the firm grip of her hands, letting her growing hunger dictate the pace of their fucking. When she squeezes, he obliges her with a solid roll of his hips, and grunts at the way her hot cunt holds him. The moans that spill from her lips are almost too much to bear – he needs her to come first, and decides to press the matter, knowing just how much his voice effects her.

“That's it, love, take me … make me fuck you,” he murmurs, and gives an extra-hard thrust the second her fingers dig into his cheeks.

“Please … _please_ ,” she gasps, and then he takes control, takes her harder, faster, deeper as she locks her legs tighter around him and just lets him ride her.

Feeling her surrender, he takes the chance to kneel up above her, looking down on her beautiful body as she shudders with the force of his thrusts. He lets his hands move down her, his fingertips dragging their way along the side of each breast, her ribs, the dip of her waist, all the way down to the swell of her hips. He holds her in place, his woman, his gorgeous fuck, as he takes all of her, watching the pleasure on her face as he fills her. His thumbs press into her hipbones, his fingers curled around just enough to reach her arse. He squeezes her every time he bottoms out inside her, just as her thighs flex around his hips, just as her sweet little pussy gushes and grips him with every thrust.

When her groans start to grow louder, the way she rocks under him a little shakier, more desperate, he brings a hand down between them to help her over the edge. His fingers splay low down across her belly, his palm pressed to her mons, and his thumb finds that sweet spot between her legs that makes her keen his name.

“Jareth … fuck … baby, _please_ …”

He keeps on watching her face as he fucks her, keeping up that steady strumming of her clit to match the rhythm of his thrusts. He watches the way her beautiful lips form pleas, curses, the sweetest of endearments, and some of the filthiest words he's ever heard. It's his name that wins out overall though – Jareth, Jareth, _Jareth_ – and just when her words at last desert her, her shining eyes and moist lips open in pure and perfect ecstasy, he leans down to kiss her. He takes her cry of sheer release down into his soul as she comes apart around him. The sweet contractions, the hot and heavy pulsing of her body is too much to bear, and with a stifled groan and one last hard thrust, he comes inside her. He gasps against her lips as his cock swells and jerks deep within her, giving her everything he has.

He doesn't remember releasing her mouth, but as he finally comes down from his high he finds his beloved reaching up to him again, demanding his kiss. He gives a lazy grin as he complies, and they share a series of slow, open-mouthed kisses, and he remains inside her for every single one. The sleepy, satisfied smile Sarah gives him is a pleasure in itself, but more than that is the way she hugs him against her, keeping him in her arms long after he's softened and slipped from her body. She sighs against his neck, breathing him in, running her fingers through his hair in idle little patterns. When she at last finds the energy to speak, her voice is low and thick from her climax, and her words fill more than just his aching loins with heat.

“It feels like I've been waiting for that ever since the last time. I've missed it so much, Jareth. I never wanted it to end – I … I feel a little stupid for even saying this, but I don't ever want this to end.”

It's what he's wanted to say to her, to hear from her for so, so long, and he knows he'd be a fool not to snatch this chance up at once. He pulls back just enough to look down into her eyes, and the naked need he sees in them is enough to decide him. “It doesn't have to, love. What we have … it doesn't ever have to stop.”

There's more they both could say – the _right_ words, of love and longing and endless devotion – but they share another deep kiss instead. When they pull back, both of them are smiling. It's enough to sate his foolish heart for now, and when he rolls onto his back to stare up into glistening white, there's a spark, a swelling of sudden elation in his chest that makes him long to scream her name up to the heavens. He's flying inside, and only she can pull him back down to earth, the sweet, welcome weight of her head upon his chest as she snuggles into his side. With a sweep of one hand, he rids them of their sex and the curtain of snow above, leaving them both clean and free to stare up at the night sky, alive with thousands of brilliant stars. His other hand caresses her back and keeps her close. This night is theirs and she, at last, is his.

She keeps him grounded, but that wild excitement inside him only grows. He has her at last, the woman he loves, and who might just love him. The exultant king turns his head towards his beloved and plants a kiss atop her hair. Gods, how he will always want her, always need her. The heat between their bodies, the heady scent of her hair, the soft weight of her breasts against his chest – hell, just being with her is enough to arouse him, and already he can feel his longing curling its way around his cock. In only a matter of minutes he's hard again, all for her, his body as much a slave to her now as it always will be. Curled into his side as she is, her hand roaming over his chest and stomach, it doesn't take her long to notice. She presses closer to him and purrs her pleasure.

“Mmm. I was kinda hoping for more, but I didn't think it'd be this soon.” Her throaty, _filthy_ chuckle makes him throb. “Have I mentioned lately how grateful I am for all this magic pumping through you?” She wraps a hand around him and starts to pump him just a little bit more.

Jareth groans and bucks into her hot palm. “Consider me entirely at your disposal to express that gratitude, precious. Thank me all you want.”

Sarah laughs. “I might just do that. At least we know we're not going to be interrupted this ti-” Her hand comes to a halt, much to his chagrin. “Oh … fuck, what time is it?” she asks, and in a subdued way that says she fears the answer.

The Goblin King sighs, and supposes he should be used to ignoring his erections by now. The clock he conjures into existence for her perusal shifts almost at once to strike twelve, its sturdy chimes shaking the silence of their private hideaway. Sarah turns her face away almost at once, the lust in her eyes replaced by disappointment, and Jareth has to bite back a grin. So headstrong, his beloved always is, and far too quick to pass judgement when she's overlooked one small yet significant detail. “Why, Sarah, whatever is the matter?” he asks, careful to add that extra note of concern.

She sighs. “We have to go back. Toby should already be asleep, but we need to go relieve the babysitters. I bet he's run all three of them ragged.”

She raises up onto her knees, her beautiful body on full display as she bends to retrieve her bra and knickers. No man, not even a king could resist that delicious sight, that urge to _taste_. In her prone position, it's easy enough to manoeuvre her onto all fours instead, her pale thighs and that creamy pink cunt spread wide for his delectation. She moans as he bends his head to taste her again.

“ _Jareth_. Oh … oh, Jareth, _fuck_! Baby … baby, _please_ …”

He groans into her, that unthinking little pet name she breathes doing more to him than even the taste of her dripping, delicious sex can. He could tongue her into complete submission, making her forget all about her brother and her friends, but he relents, keeping his strokes slow, and her thoughts _almost_ coherent as she pants and writhes for him. At last, he pauses, content to trail his kisses along the back of each thigh as she recovers.

“I want to so much,” she chokes out, her hips swaying even as she protests, “but you said we had to be back by-”

“How many tolls of the bells did you hear, love?” he asks, with a teasing nip of teeth at her right buttock.

“Twelve …”

“Twelve – just so.” Her answer is immediate, but is that a touch of uncertainty he can hear in her voice? Interesting. It's almost as if she wants to find an excuse to stay. Jareth smiles and gives her hips a squeeze as his mouth moves lower again. “But where are we, Sarah? Where is this whole delightful encounter taking place?”

Her answer comes, high and breathless, just as his mouth brushes her slick lips. “Your world. Uhn … Underground …”

“Mmm-hmm,” he croons into her, teasing and encouraging in one. “That's right, precious. Now, look again: what wonderful number does that clock go up to, Sarah? What hour does that give me until to bury my tongue in this sweet little pussy of yours?”

Her sudden gasp might be exultation or revelation, or perhaps both. “Th-th-th-thirteen … oh, _fuck, Jareth_ …”

His evil chuckle runs right through her cunt. “Merry Christmas, love,” he murmurs, and then, in the best possible way, he's soon far, far too busy to talk.

 

 


	7. Of gifts and the present

Jareth waltzes back into the living room with a smile, having checked on a most definitely sleeping Toby for at least the third time since their return. The exhausted babysitters are long gone now, and the equally exhausted Goblin King doesn't want the lad waking up and creeping downstairs to witness something he shouldn't. Lovely Sarah has had more than her share of pleasure for one night, if her earlier moans were anything to go by, but it always pays to be prepared for round two, just in case. He sees her, sitting in the glow of a warm fire, bundled up in countless blankets, and she's just as lovely in profile as she was laid out on her back for him in all that pure white snow. It's so easy to imagine walking in on such a perfect, innocent scene, Above or Underground, for the rest of his days. When she glances over her shoulder at him and grins, Jareth knows once and for all that his heart is truly lost to the woman.

“Still sleeping?” she asks.

He nods, unable to tell her that in that one simple moment, she's managed to render him speechless. Surely, it can't be healthy to feel so much for another, but then he remembers her earlier words, and the spark he has seen in her eyes – that flash of what he knows to be love – and it sets his wavering smile to rights again. He isn't foolish enough to declare all those silly words of love that reside within his chest – at least not until he hears them from _her_ lips first – but he knows he can't go on just looking at her all night. As always, he knows a little flirting, a little teasing will be enough to make him feel in control again. He strokes his thumb along her cheek and the bow of her mouth, feeling her smile. Her lips purse as she presses a kiss to the tip.

 _“T'was the night before Christmas,”_ Jareth begins, _“and all through the abode, not a creature was stirring, not even a To…by.”_

Sarah tilts her head back further, only to roll those alluring green eyes at him. “That rhyme is reaching a little, don't you think?”

“Hush and let me finish. It gets quite filthy, I promise.” He pecks a kiss to her forehead before rounding the overstuffed sofa to join her, slinging an arm around her shoulders in the process. He has no reservations now about drawing her closer and stealing his share of the blankets as he continues with his adaptation.

_“The king shoed his subjects from the house with great care,_

_Whilst dear Sarah awaited him just down the stair._

_Under all of those blankets, so soft and so sweet,_

_The king couldn't imagine a more luscious treat._

_Undeterred by a couch instead of a bed,_

_He had lots of most wicked thoughts in his head._

_A dark urge to touch, the need to behold her,_

_To have those pale thighs wrapped tight 'round his shoulders …”_

He lets his voice grow louder – as loud as he dares, anyhow – gaining more and more dramatic flair with each ridiculous line, before he finally cracks her.

_“With a lick of his lips, and his grin oh so merry,_

_He trails his hot kisses down over her belly._

_Sweet Sarah begs 'More!' as she spreads her legs wide,_

_She welcomes him: 'Oh, Jareth,_ do _come inside!'_

_As for what happens next, well, I hate to be blunt,_

_But the Goblin King buried his tongue in her-”_

Sarah laughs and smacks his arm. “You're a jerk.”

He touches his palm to his chest, as if wounded. “I thought you'd find my little poem quite profound – moving, even. I know _I_ felt a definite stirring … here, I'll even let you check.” Smirking now, he takes hold of her wrist and urges her hand into a suggestive trail downward towards his belt.

Still laughing, she snatches back her hand before he can direct it anywhere truly interesting. “Definite jerk.”

“Mmm … is that an offer I hear?”

As easy as it would be to throw her beneath him after deflecting the playful kick she aims at his shin, he settles for pulling her tight against his hip. He rests his chin atop her head and sighs at the sweet smell of her hair. It's hard to recall the last time he has felt so content, his mind and body sleepy and sated, full of warmth. Everything he could ever dream of wanting is right there within his reach, wrapped up in his arms at long last.

Despite all their sexual intimacy, despite the fact that they've managed to fall asleep together, they've never truly taken the time to 'cuddle' like this before, and the whole scenario is making his heart beat in that frankly alarming way again. Part of him wants to think it's the lingering excitement of their earlier encounter; certainly, there's a degree of smugness when he recalls all of the wonderful ways he's been inside this woman, but he knows deep down that it can't account for for the merry rhythm of his heart. Making Sarah smile really is as nice as making her come, he's discovering, and he wants to spend years, decades, perhaps even a near-immortal lifetime doing both. Tucked into their warm nest, curled up in soft blankets, plump cushions, and each other, the Goblin King thinks that he's never felt more at home. He could be sweet to her, he knows, and could spend the rest of their time together loving her enough for her to never regret being foolish enough to choose him. If, one day, she could possibly be ready … if _he_ could ever be ready to finally take a queen to rule by his side …

He would consider no other.

“All joking aside … you're going to stick around after Toby's wish is granted, right?” she asks in a soft voice that holds all the power to pull him out of his thoughts. “I don't just mean tonight. He likes you, you know … a lot … and, well … we both like you … and I'd kinda like to give this a try around the whole … um … king thing … somehow. If that's … if it's something you want to try, too …?”

Outside of the warm glow of passion, the sentiment strikes him that much harder. It really hits him, then, just how new this business of love is to both of them. Two souls, each normally so strong, so certain, made to doubt and worry over everything, all because of what beats and grows within their hearts. When one cares so much for a person, their smallest gesture is scrutinised from all directions, analysed past the point of sense, wrung dry of every possible meaning. Hearts, fragile things as they are, can be built up or broken over the smallest misinterpreted word. The strange thing is, the further he allows himself to fall for this _particular_ person, the less all of those concerns are starting to matter to him. All that matters is being with her, loving her in all ways, and far beyond sense, or meaning. He has never allowed himself to be weak for anyone before, and yet for her, he's willing to try.

His bold champion has never before been afraid to look him in the eye, but she doesn't even have to turn her head to have him under her spell. His chest swells as he squeezes her tighter. “More than anything,” he says, and that's the end of it. He feels the relief in her body as it nestles into his, the gratitude in her embrace as she hugs him closer. The future, whatever form it might take, will come for them in time, but for the present, right here and right now, they both choose to stay perfectly still.

The seams of Jareth's heart are tested again when she finally falls asleep in his embrace, and he has to drag himself away from her. The presents are all laid out beneath the tree, and she has the warmth of her blankets and the comfort of her dreams. She's tired from their lovemaking and satisfied in her sleep, knowing that after the past few busy days, she has done everything within her mortal power to give her brother the best Christmas he could ask for. Jareth wants nothing more than to join her in rest, but for him there is still work to do: one last monumental act of magic he must perform before the night is over. It's the season for miracles, or at least overblown, theatrical gestures of romance, after all. As much as he wants to dazzle her with his abilities, he thinks moving the stars just for love might be a step too far, so early in their courtship. The simple shifting of a few troublesome meteorological patterns, however …

Stepping out into the cold night air, he suppresses his shivers for long enough to set the world around him to rights. Though that rush of magic exhausts him, leaves him shaking and cursing every cold rush of air as it knifes its way through his body, he finds he has just enough strength to stagger back to his warm nest – back to _her_.

Christmas morning dawns, and with its pale light comes the thundering of small feet, and jarring squawks of excitement. Disoriented and bleary-eyed, Jareth is convinced for a moment that he's back in the Underground, sighing his weary acceptance as the customary sea of goblins flood into the banquet hall for their breakfast. After an all-too-brief respite, hidden behind the heels of his hands, he remembers the chain of events leading up to this rude awakening. An ecstatic Toby comes into focus – thankfully before the overworked Goblin King makes a snap decision to send the early morning intruder straight to the Bog.

It helps more than a little when Sarah, still tangled up in blankets, her dark hair tousled from sleep, manifests out of the haze like some sleep-deprived angel.

“What time is it?” she asks as she paws at each eye.

“ _Christmas time!_ Merry Christmas, you guys, hey, it's _Christmas!_ ” Toby's ear-splitting cry, though somewhat ambiguous in regards to the actual hour of the day, quiets any further attempt at protest.

Jareth remains resolute in his quest to stay warm and snug beneath the blankets, even if he won't be allowed to go back to sleep. With weariness weighing down his bones, he's willing to die still sitting on that couch, if need be. Sarah gives his thigh an affectionate squeeze as they both watch Toby dive into his pile of presents, the two of them murmuring words of encouragement every now and again. Jareth has to admit, even as he stifles a yawn, there are far worse places to be. His lips curl into a sleepy smile as he realises that, in all the excitement, both Toby and Sarah have neglected to pull the curtains aside to glance outside.

The telephone starts to ring just as Toby has finished unwrapping a Scalextric set, and is demanding that Jareth take part in the first of what is sure to be numerous hundred-lap races. Making use of the distraction, he shushes the lad into a slightly lower decibel of squawking while Sarah finally extricates herself from their warm blanket nest. She snatches up the handset after just a few more rings and brings it to her ear.

“Hello? Oh, hi, Dad! Merry Christmas! Yeah, we're fine. Yeah, Toby's knee-deep in gift wrap as we speak. I can get him to come talk to you if you … huh? No, I haven't seen the news, why? No, we haven't even … uh, just a sec.”

With the phone still clutched to her ear, Sarah stretches the cord to within an inch of its life as she crosses the room, and finally pulls open the living room curtains.

“What the …? The snow is … yeah, it's completely gone here, too! But last night it was … I don't even know how!” A smile spreads across her face and she laughs in disbelief. “You mean you managed to … oh, wow! I haven't even gotten dinner started yet! What time does your flight land? Oh, that gives me lots of time. Sure, we can eat a little later, that's no problem at all. Just warn Irene that _my_ stuffing is coming out of a box.” She listens and laughs again. “Yeah, well even if she teaches me, I'm not doing this every year. Oh, this is great! Um, just another second, okay?” She leans away from the receiver. “Hey, Tobes, guess who managed to book a last-minute flight? Guess who's going to be home for Christmas after all?”

The young boy's eyes light up at once. “Dad! Mom!”

He scrambles up from all the boxes and scattered scraps of brightly-coloured paper, all gifts forgotten as he races over to take the phone. Jareth grins at the way the lad can hardly stand still as he speaks to his parents, the tails of his pyjama shirt flapping as he bounces on the ball of first one foot, and then the other. Amused as he is by watching Toby's little performance, it takes Jareth a moment to realise that he, too, is being watched. When he turns his head, he sees Sarah standing just a few steps away, a knowing smile on her lips. As she comes closer, he notices a glow in her eyes that the scant morning light can't account for. Before he can question her on it, however, she bends down to him, and her lips are pressed against his in a soft, sweet kiss. With Toby still tied up with his phone conversation, neither of them are in any hurry to break that kiss.

“Not that I'm complaining, but … what was that for?” Jareth asks at last.

Sarah smiles down at him. “The best, most thoughtful Christmas present Toby and I could ask for – and don't even think of lying to try and make it seem like you had nothing to do with it. I know what you did. Thank you.”

Resigned, he grins and pulls her down for another kiss. “You don't have to thank me. I wanted to … for both of you.”

“It means a lot.” She stays in his arms as she gazes up at him, and lowers her voice so that only he can hear her. “You know, if you hadn't spent the whole of last night fucking me into next week, I'd say you were going soft, Goblin King.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I'm never soft for long when I'm around you, love.”

She presses another brief kiss to his mouth and whispers against his lips. “Well, see if you can keep it in your pants long enough for Toby to finish opening his presents, okay? Speaking of which …”

Breaking away from him, she moves over to the tree, presenting him with the same perfect view of her bottom that started all this as she reaches under the thick branches. When she emerges, she has a bulky package in her arms – one of the many gaily-wrapped gifts that he assumed were for Toby.

“This is from me,” she says with a smile, “and this is from Toby – with permission from Santa Claus, of course.” She dumps the wrapped present into his arms, and then slips a small white envelope into his hand.

“So _this_ is what you were sneaking around doing after you'd talked Toby and I into that second fizzy monstrosity you call soda. How very crafty of you.”

Sarah only laughs. “Just open them.”

“Why, thank you …” Jareth can't remember the last time someone has given him something so simple as a present, outside of the formal gifts offered on behalf of the neighbouring kingdoms. The smile that creeps across his face is quite idiotic, he's sure, as he settles himself back on the couch to unwrap them. He slits open the envelope first, finding a thin card inside, and a hearty laugh bursts from his chest as he recognises the logo emblazoned across the plastic. It's for the cookie store inside that godforsaken mall's busy food court – a memento of the one moment of happiness he managed to find on their hellish day of shopping. He assumes the card might be traded for more of the sweet treats, and thinks he could be tempted into a return visit after all. “Thank you, Toby,” he says, offering the boy a smile. “This is a truly excellent gift.”

Toby, who by then has ended his phone call and is edging his way back towards the rest of his presents, only blushes and grins.

Sarah gives him a smile of encouragement as he turns his attention to his second gift. Jareth tears into the wrapping paper in what he hopes is a slightly more restrained manner than young Toby has displayed so far, but he's curious to see what Sarah has in store for him. He finds a pair of black winter gloves, a set of thick socks, and a three-pack of men's thermal leggings.

“I saw how much you've been … _struggling_ in the cold for me … uh … for us, I mean, and I wanted to help out. I … that is, Toby and I … want you to spend more time here, and I don't want you to have to suffer for it. We don't need any precious areas getting frostbite. That wouldn't be fun for either of us,” she says, with a slightly sheepish grin.

He smiles back at her, amused and yet genuinely touched. Of course she would see through all of his bravado, and yet allow him to maintain his dignity. “Very thoughtful, love. Thank you.”

They share another kiss, and when Sarah is certain her brother is wrapped up in his unwrapping, she slips a small, pink card into his palm. “And then there's … this.”

Jareth glances down at this curious gift. It's made of the same plastic as his new cookie card, but this time he does not recognise the store name written across it. “ _Victoria's Secret_ ,” he reads. When he looks back up to question Sarah on exactly what that secret might be, she has the naughtiest smile on her lips.

“I was thinking that sometime after Christmas, we could go pick out a gift for both of us. Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes,” he answers at once, and vows to send a team of his bravest goblins to track down this mysterious Victoria herself for answers, if they have to. He wants to be fully prepared for whatever adventure Sarah has in mind.

The two of them meet in a longer, sweeter kiss, ever mindful of the young boy they still share a room with. What small passion they manage to kindle between them is soon extinguished, however, as Jareth pulls back with a gasp. The most awful realisation has struck him, and even in all of his years as a stony-faced monarch, he can't hide his dismay.

With all of his work to provide the perfect Christmas, in all of his efforts to appear nonchalant in the face of his growing affections, he has forgotten the simple act of preparing a gift for the one woman who means more to him than anything. He has nothing in store, not even a single present for her to unwrap on this day of giving, when she has already given him so much. He curses himself for spending so much time thinking with one head, while completely losing the other.

His horror must be plain, because she's cupping his cheek, concern rife in her green eyes as she asks him what's wrong. He can't very well tell her that _everything_ is, in fact, wrong.

Toby's gift is easy enough to think of, given his fascination with all things goblin; just another wrapped present is quickly magicked onto the pile with all the rest while the lad isn't looking. Sarah's absent gift, however, is another matter entirely. He could conjure up a token bauble, a necklace perhaps, but he knows it would hold no real meaning, no heartfelt sentiment beneath the trinket's glister. Once again, Sarah has managed to defeat him – this time with no more than a kiss and a little thermal clothing.

“Sarah,” he begins, with a nervous glance downwards that only curses him with a glimpse of his empty hands. “I don't know how to tell you this-”

A heavy knock at the front door means he doesn't have to. Sarah turns in surprise. “Dad and Irene won't be home for hours. You didn't invite Hoggle and the gang over, did you?”

Though it's clear she's joking, Jareth's lips purse in distaste. He follows close behind as Sarah goes to answer the door, refusing to give in to the need to place a protective hand on her shoulder. A scowl darkens his expression as the door swings open to reveal a strangely familiar sight.

“ _You._ ” Jareth steps forward at once, giving in to his baser, defensive instincts after all.

The man standing at Sarah's door, where he has no reason nor right to be, is the one from the park – the one who virtually assaulted her with his clumsiness. He's still wearing his old red parka and heavy black boots, but the colours seem brighter, cleaner, somehow. Even his white hair and beard seem to have regained their lustre, layered onto his round, pink face like freshly-fallen snow. He looks almost _jolly_ , in much better health than Jareth had first seen him, but as far as the Goblin King is concerned, he's still a strange and unwelcome guest.

“Can we help you?” Sarah asks, calm and polite as ever.

“Actually, I was hoping to help you.” The man reaches into his pocket, possibly for some kind of weapon, and Jareth tenses and pulls Sarah closer, ready to thrust her behind him at a moment's notice. He relaxes only marginally when instead of a blade, the man produces a tiny blue jewellery box. “Your fella there, he dropped this back at the park, and I've been trying to track him down ever since.” A merry chuckle escapes the man as he turns his gaze to Jareth. “If you don't mind me saying so, son, you're a slippery bugger to catch. I've been everywhere trying to track you down. Almost got you mixed up with some English guy with a similar face. Nice fella, though – had me in to meet the missus over a cup of tea. Lovely couple – just as nice as you two. Anyway, my boy, this is yours.”

Utterly perplexed, Jareth almost flinches back as the cheerful stranger offers him the box. He's never seen it before in his life. Perceptive as he is, he can feel the strange magic of the moment curling around him, drawing him in. He can feel there's nothing malicious there, and in light of his dwindling reservations, his protest is much weaker than he wants it to be. “That … isn't mine.”

Undeterred, the old man winks and taps the side of his nose with a knowing smile. “Ah, of course, of course.” He beams as he holds out the gift to Sarah instead. “It's meant for _you_.”

Sarah reaches out, almost in slow motion, to accept the box. She, too, it seems, has been drawn in, warmed by that good, white magic, accepting despite the strangeness of the situation. “Thank you … thanks so much for returning it.” She clasps the small gift in both hands and smiles at the kind stranger. “Would you like to come in out of the cold for a while? We don't have tea, but I could make you coffee, or maybe a hot chocolate …?”

The old man laughs to himself, one hand pressed to his substantial belly. “Oh, that's all right, missy, you don't need to go and do that. Besides, there'll be hell to pay if I'm late to Cousin Nick's Christmas party again. His wife makes the best sugar cookies you've ever tasted. Mmm-hmm. Some pretty good chocolate chip cookies, too – but don't tell her I said they're only 'pretty good', will you? Ha! Oh, here I go, yapping away while she's already baking up a storm. I'd better be going. You two have yourselves a merry Christmas, now – and don't go losing any more presents! I like to help out – family's family, after all – but I'm off duty now 'til next year.”

He chuckles and reaches out his hand again, empty this time, and offers it first to Sarah, and then Jareth. When it's Jareth's turn to shake hands, he feels a strange crackling that starts in the tips of his fingers, but quickly floods down through the rest of his body. He feels giddy, drunk almost, and before he knows it, he's smiling and waving the man off, standing with one arm around Sarah's shoulders as they watch the curious stranger walk away.

The door swings closed, and the spell is broken. Jareth shakes his head in confusion, and no matter how hard he taxes his brain, he can only vaguely remember releasing the man's hand again. By his side, Sarah is equally puzzled, staring at the small blue box as if she has never seen it before.

“What _was_ that?” she asks, laughing a little. “And what's this?”

Jareth peers at the box for a moment, and though the strange elation he felt in the man's presence is fading, he feels hope welling up within his chest. He doesn't quite know what's inside that box – doesn't know for sure if he's being tricked into a marriage proposal he's nowhere near ready for – but he knows that, whatever it is, it's perfect. He can feel it, all of the love and care he has for her, crafted into just one small gift. He almost wants to rip the box open himself, with how badly he needs to see it. “It's for you,” he tells her. “To let you know that, wherever you go, I'll always be looking out for you. Open it, love.”

He can't help but see the way her fingers tremble as she tries to pry open the box's lid. With a grin, he closes his hands over hers, and together they coax it open. Blessedly, Sarah's loud gasp covers his own soft sigh of contentment.

Sitting on a cushion of dark blue velvet is a beautiful matte silver ring, etched into the wise, pointed face of an owl. Two small, icy-blue diamonds bring the owl to life – pale, twinkling eyes that will gaze upon the ring's owner for an eternity. When Jareth darts his own gaze up to meet Sarah's, he knows she loves it, and all that it symbolises, just as much as he does. Together, the two of them lift the ring free of its confines and move it over to her left hand. It fits perfectly … onto her thumb. It's ideal there, small and subtle, and as Jareth vows to himself, it's an unspoken promise for the future. Wearing that small token of his love, she has never been so gorgeous to him. He smiles as he clasps her hand between his, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss just above that silver owl.

“Jareth … thank you. It's so, so beautiful …”

He grins as he draws her into his arms. “So are you.”

Just as their lips are about to meet in perhaps the most perfect show of Christmas romance, the sounds of a small stampede reach Jareth's startled ears. He hardly has time to face the new threat before a boy-shaped tsunami crashes into him, forcing most of the air from his lungs. The Goblin King goes down bravely, with one last desperate glance at his beloved, and two small yet surprisingly strong arms squeezing the life out of his stomach. The back of his head hits the hallway floor – cushioned by carpet, at least – but the small pain of it is immediately outdone as Toby's hard skull connects with his jaw.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou _thank you_ ,” comes the boy's delicate scream into his ear, making Jareth wish that his gift of a tin goblin army had been accompanied by a muzzle.

' _Books, next year_ ,' he thinks as he waits for his ears to stop ringing. ' _Nothing but the heaviest, most dreary textbooks I can find._ ' He wonders – and not for the first time – about the legalities of gifting a small boy his own inescapable labyrinth – preferably with a minotaur waiting at the centre.

Relative peace descends on the household as Toby takes his new army up to his room to play, but there's no time to relax in it. There's a full Christmas meal to make, and though Sarah seems to have most of the preparations under control, Jareth helps wherever he can – even if that help comes mostly in the form of babysitting her new ring so that it doesn't get dirty, and listening to some interesting new swear words. She looks quite adorable, cursing and covered in bits of grease and flour, but having been the recipient of her fierce glare more than once, he doesn't quite dare to tell her. Still, she manages to cheer up once most of the work is done, helped along by a few kisses and a large glass of wine. The rich scents of a delicious meal soon fill the house, and though it does smell appetizing, Jareth feels his stomach start to turn.

The downside of spending so much time together is how much more painful it will make having to leave. Though he tries to smile and keep his spirits up, he can feel the time slipping through his fingers, ticking down his remaining hours, and then his last minutes as a part of her world. Finally, he hears the sound he has been dreading all morning: the idling engine of a cab in the driveway as the rest of the Williams family arrive home from the airport. Toby comes bounding down the stairs and is outside like a shot, unable to hold back his excitement at finally having his parents back. Sarah is slower, however, as she stops to wash and dry off her hands first. Her head is bowed over the sink, and when it becomes clear she won't address the issue, Jareth knows it's up to him. Her owl ring seems to peck at his palm, telling him how foolish he's being as he approaches her. With a muted sigh, he lays a hand on her shoulder.

“I'm afraid, dear Sarah, that it's time for me to go.” He really can't bear to leave her. Not again. “I can come back. I _will_ come back, like you said … ah … after the celebrations are over, I suppose. We'll still spend time together.” With his free hand, he offers her the ring. “Here. You don't have to put it back on right away. It might be better if you don't, actually, to save any awkward questions. I know it isn't … _that_ sort of ring … but still, it might be … misconstrued.” He forces a laugh. “Unexpected jewellery … they might think you have a new gentleman caller.”

Both of them are silent as she accepts the ring. Sarah looks at it for a moment, twisting it between her fingers so the owl's pale eyes catch the light as she contemplates. Her decision made, she slides the ring back onto her thumb.

“I do.” The words are spoken so softly, he's almost afraid he has misheard her. Then, she raises her head and smiles at him. Her eyes seem to sparkle with hope. “I _do_ have a gentleman caller – or a boyfriend, as most normal people would say … right? I'm getting a little sick of mincing words, and that's pretty much what we both want you to be. And we could spend more time together today … if said boyfriend wants to stay for dinner.” She touches her ring, as though gaining confidence just from its presence. “Of course, you'd have to do the whole 'meet the parents' thing. You think you can handle it?”

He can feel his chest swell, both with affection for her, and with a somewhat indignant sense of pride. “Being king carries with it a certain degree of responsibility, I'll have you know. I've met more than enough statesmen, foreign dignitaries, and yes, even other royalty in my lifetime. I'm sure I have the mettle required to face your family, love.”

She offers him a somewhat guilty smile. “Did I mention I've never brought a serious boyfriend home before?”

“Ah.” By which he means 'shit'. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Sarah's increasingly sheepish expression. He's certain there's more.

“Or … _any_ boyfriend, really. I guess I never got around to it. They'll probably have a ton of questions for you.”

“... ah.” He uses what little air remains in his now-deflated chest to clear his throat. “And … is one of those questions going to be posed by your father, with the purpose of discovering my intentions towards his only daughter?” He hopes the question won't be retroactive. Last night's amorous intentions alone would be enough to make any father's blood boil, and Jareth can't quite recall whether duelling is still the done thing Aboveground. Sarah chuckles a little as he's pondering this last, lightening the weight of his worry.

“No, dad isn't like that.” It's enough to give a man hope, but she's still wearing that look – that hint of something more to come. After a pause, it does. “Irene, though … she's going to want to know every little thing about you, and she's pretty huge on respect. I've seen her take down cat-callers at twenty paces; she made some drunk guy cry once, after he shot his mouth at her. _She's_ the one you've got to watch out for.”

Jareth, like any good king, swallows down his fear. He's sure the woman will be able to scent it. “Goody.”

With Toby's joyous shouts echoing in from outside, Sarah takes his hand in hers. “Come on. Hey, it's Christmas, the season of goodwill. They'll have to at least _pretend_ to like you.”

“Hmm. Thanks for the reassurance. And you're definitely sure about this?”

Sarah – truly _his_ Sarah, at long last – smiles and squeezes his hand. “More than anything,” she echoes back at him.

She's all smiles as she heads out the door, tugging him along behind her. As the Goblin King follows, his heart full of love – and, fine, a tiny bit of that damnable Christmas Spirit at long last, too – Jareth can feel himself grinning as well.

He remembers sneering and much eye-rolling at some of the sappier couples he has had the displeasure of dining with in the past, certain that no one could possibly be so lost and pathetic in love. Now that he's amongst those pitiful ranks, however, he feels a vague sense of guilt; guilt, and the inkling that sending out a fruit basket or two might be in order, by way of apology. It might be prudent to send out a few dinner invitations, too, if his new girlfriend can be persuaded into attending with him. He also needs to track down that old rogue, Nikolaos, at some point to share some of his best brandy with. Given all of his new plans for the season, it's probably going to be a long time before he has the energy to feel bored again. By this time next year, gods forbid, he might actually be _excited_ for Yuletide.

For now, though, he has the daunting task of meeting what may very well be his future in-laws. Pulling in a deep breath, Jareth puts his best foot forward, but not without a desperate plea to the forces above – all in the spirit of Christmas, of course.

“Gods help us – every one.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for this taking so long to finish, and many thanks to you lovely people for the comments, kudos, and patience. Hope that you enjoyed the fun and the fluff, and that whether you're celebrating it or not, you all have a wonderful, safe, and peaceful Christmastime xx


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